


my love, heaven's not too far to touch

by maidenstar



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - San Junipero, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Black Mirror, Slow Build, Slow Burn, san junipero au, this really is just half angst half fluff all smooshed together i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 100,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15960533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: “Eternity never looked all that appealing back in the days when I had no one to spend it with…”It is always a bustling Saturday night in the strange and ethereally charming city of San Junipero. Beautiful young things come here to party their troubles away for one night a week, but for Waverly Earp being new in town is overwhelming. This is a place for ghosts; a city where everyone is dead or dying. Everyone, that is, except her.Waverly does not know a single other soul in the city, and on that very first night she feels lost amongst the hubbub. After years of lonely hospital bedrooms she is desperate for the chance to leave her body behind and enter a hedonistic world of virtual reality. She just needs someone who might show her the ropes, who might remind her how it feels toreallybe alive.That is when an enigmatic, red-haired woman walks right into Waverly’s (after)life...





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly is given her first taste of the virtual reality that is San Junipero and finds herself at a loss as to what to do. She vows to follow the lead of the first person who really stands out to her, and eventually she meets a red-haired, beanie-wearing woman with dimples for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I post a new multi-chapter fic my brain just plays: guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back on a loop all that day. Because that's not annoying at all. Thanks brain.
> 
> Other special thanks go out to my brain for Once Again deciding to throw out a loooong au idea when I'm already writing another loooong au. This is why I never get anything done and why we can't have nice things.
> 
> Ultimately though, I have managed to get one of my many wips (oh my god so effing many Wynonna Earp wips) to a state where I can put it out there onto the internet. Scary times. (Actually, for real, I _am_ a teeny bit scared because this fic has more angst than I usually write. Of course, I never normally write _any_ angst at all so my engagement with it is basically a high-pitched, unsure noise and a wiggly hand gesture. I never have any idea what I'm doing at the best of times - how do I do this thing with the angst???).
> 
> Anyway, what I have managed to write is basically this alternate meeting fic - based on the Black Mirror episode San Junipero. I sort of live my life assuming everyone has seen this television masterpiece but if you haven’t 1) dude. wth are you doing???? It’s one hour, it’s on most Netflix region thingies go watch!!!! 2) no really, you possibly need to see the episode for this fic to make total sense. I imagine it probably is fine either way, but I do recommend you catch the episode if you’re going through this chapter with no damn clue what’s going on. Or that could just be my writing. Probably it’s the writing but idk man try the episode. 
> 
> I don’t really think there’s anything else I need to lay out at this stage for this au to make sense, only to state that Nicole and Waverly didn’t meet in Purgatory. Everything else does become clear as things progress. However, one thing I have done to help me write each chapter is make a little spotify playlist. The rules for the playlists were that the songs have to have come out either as album tracks or singles in the year each chapter is set (with a few exceptions bc I’m a monster). Then I sort of thought it might be fun to include them here, so here is the [Chapter 1 spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/3TrGzV5R3zvGZu9BtQNpDl?si=pAdCoo2PRA2oPTGQ_6wezg) (if that’s anyone’s jam).
> 
> Only other housekeeping is that chapters will be posted once per week, probably Tuesdays this time round. So, with all that rubbish and rambling out the way - here’s Chapter 1!

**Saturday. 2012.  
**Visit 1.0****

 

The place even smells real.

That is perhaps the first thing Waverly notices.

For years, the only scents in her life have been clinical. She has never actually seen it, but her room actually somehow smells white.

The worst was the cleaning fluid they used to mop the floor - it seemed to cling to the air for hours, making the inside of her nose feel like it had been burned. Sometimes, the drugs they administer through her IV line smell a little too. That same, sharp, nonspecific smell of a hospital.

The best is when someone from her old BBD team visits, because they might carry with them perfume, aftershave, or even laundry detergent. The smells are far off memories of her old life, but they are a temporary sticking plaster, papering over the cracks for now.

Occasionally, one of the nurses opens the window if the weather is fine - never a guarantee in the Ghost River Triangle - and if the grass has been cut or the flowers are in bloom, sometimes Waverly gets to smell those too.

It does not sound like much, but it is almost comforting to know that the world keeps turning and the seasons keep changing. Almost a comfort, but not quite.

Waverly wants to be happy that her team are otherwise okay. To a degree, she _is_ happy. But she is resentful too, not at her loved ones for living but at herself for not managing to do the same.

She hates this halfway house so much that thinking on it too long causes a throbbing pain in her right temple.

She must be the only Earp in generations who was too stubborn to actually finish the job and die. Instead she stuck around - but not properly; just a motionless cage of her old self, tucked into the same, stupid hospital bed for years.

That is, until now.

Some sceptical part of her had thought she might be able to tell the difference, but the illusion of the city was as flawless as all the leaflets had promised.

Wynonna had read the brochures aloud one afternoon in what was, apparently, early summer.

The doctors constantly assured her loved ones that Waverly perceived everything that was going on around her, so Wynonna did her best to visit often. On the days she either could not make the trip or could not bear to, Dolls comes instead, or perhaps Doc, or even Jeremy and Rosita together.

On special occasions, the whole family visits her together.

There had been a time in the early days when the visits had dwindled, reasons given alongside a name Waverly heard as Bulshar, but since that time Waverly was never without visitors.

If anything, it only makes her more lonely.

She feels as though she is holding them back.

Wynonna never did much of anything these days, never strayed far from home now because of Waverly. According to the updates, Bulshar is gone and with him the Earp curse, but there were apparently many monsters left in the Ghost River Triangle and while it is true that Wynonna is still trying to get rid of them, it is not the full story.

She has never said as much, but she does not leave because she feels guilty that Waverly cannot do the same.

It would be easier, Waverly knows, if she had simply died.

It is a morbid thought but an accurate one. Because you can grieve a corpse and then you can begin to move on, but Wynonna cannot have closure if Waverly clings to life like a ghost.

If she could let herself go, she would, but as it is Waverly cannot even consent to anything involving her medical care. Hell, she cannot even blink twice for ‘yes’.

So it falls to Wynonna to give the consent for something called the San Junipero project.

With a fifteen-minute discussion at Waverly’s bedside and only three identical signatures on two different pieces of paper, Waverly becomes part of the next batch of test users.

It seems like the easiest decision Wynonna has ever made about her sister’s care, but Waverly suspects otherwise.

“I hope you’ll like it there,” she says one evening when she visits Waverly alone. “I mean, there’s no reason you wouldn’t and it’s only for a few hours a week anyway. They’re still trialling it on people who aren’t, you know. Who are still alive but don’t get to leave the hospital.”

Not for the first time, Wynonna’s voice grows heavy with tears.

“I just wish I could know that I was doing right by you babygirl. I just wish you could tell me yourself.”

 

 

 

 

 

The air in San Junipero is warm and it smells of wet tarmac and saltwater. That alone might be the best sensory experience of Waverly’s life.

There are, however, a lot of things fighting for that title.

There is something pawing at the edge of every one of her senses, demanding her attention like a persistent puppy.

She finds herself standing in a small living room, not dissimilar to the one in the flat above Shorty’s but different nonetheless in a few ways. While not large, it is still bigger than her old living room and in some ways reminiscent of the homestead too. There are two armchairs turned together, each of them maroon in colour and made of studded leather which looks battered and worn in the best of ways. There is a darkwood floor and multiple rugs laid out atop the floorboards, each one unique thanks to the swirling wood grain patterns.

There is even a hearth, although something instinctual tells Waverly that this is an apartment. But of all the supposedly impossible things happening to her right now, this hardly takes precedence.

In fact, Waverly finds she has to drift to the nearest chair and sink into the cushions, suddenly overwhelmed.

She hasn’t left her bed in years. She hasn’t even opened her eyes. And suddenly she has been plunged into a room she has never seen before in a world that does not technically exist.

She feels like she is actually here. This place feels real. And yet her body has not technically moved - she is still laying motionless in Purgatory.

Her mind boggles and reels, and for a moment she wonders if this was really the right decision.

She had yearned for San Junipero from the moment she had heard about it. It had seemed like a way out of the hell she had been living for years, but now it all seemed a little much.

Across the room a window is open, the glass half-hidden by a soft, gauzy curtain. It was thin enough to let in a pleasing amount of peachy-pink light from outside.

Whatever is out there, Waverly can hear it all. The soft strains of life - of _real_ life - filter through to her and she frowns.

It is not as though the hospital ever falls entirely silent. That in itself is a form of torture.

There are beeping monitors, the frequent patter of footsteps as people walk by along the corridor outside, and sometimes on a clear day she can hear the distant rumble of the odd passing car. She hears the voices of the nurses, of other patients and their families, and she is seldom without the stupid, but admittedly quite addictive, daytime television dramas that the nurses put on for her.

None of this was real life however. It might have been tangibly real, but it was a distorted reality. It felt like it belonged to someone else’s life.

There is the paradox then, because here in this projected, illusionary world, however, the world sounded the way it should - the way Waverly remembers life used to sound. There are sounds she had forgotten she ever once took for granted.

She can hear music, and she has to laugh at the fact that she is in some kind of manufactured heaven and yet someone is still playing Taylor Swift.

( _...we’re happy, free, confused, and lonely in the best way...it’s miserable and magical…_ )

It had felt as though her friends played that album every damn day the year they turned seventeen. Half of her memories from that year are etched into a song from that very tracklist.

Something swells within her chest and she does not know whether she should tip her head back and laugh or curl up and cry.

Even when happy, she still feels so very alone. There is no one to share this feeling with here, and there is no way to share it back at home.

It has been so lonely to be so isolated after what happened to her, but it doesn’t feel any less lonely now. There is so much life (figuratively speaking) out there now, but she would bet that she doesn’t know a single other soul in San Junipero.

Wynonna isn’t here, because Wynonna is alive and well - thank God. The same applies to Jeremy, Chrissy, Dolls; anyone she considers friends. Willa isn’t here because she died just before any advancements in this sort of technology. It cannot be used on those already gone, only on those who are soon to be departing. And soon, it might be rolled out for all people like Waverly - for the ones who aren’t going anywhere at all. But it was too late for Willa or Ward. They were gone, drifting in a space between worlds.

It all makes Waverly feel unwell, nausea creeping into her stomach before she even has time to be shocked that such a sensation exists in a world of make believe.

After years working with Black Badge and watching Wynonna send people to Hell, the notion of the afterlife still leaves her feeling like she has spiders on her skin.

She might have been transported from the cold and empty reality of her physical state - but Waverly is still as lonely as ever. She is still searching for something, for some kind of salvation she cannot even articulate.

 

 

 

 

 

She sits in the little living room for nearly an hour, trying to regulate her breathing and get used to her own body again.

She jumps at every little sensation.

When she shifts in the chair, her bare arm tracks from warm leather to cold metal and she recoils for a moment. She snags her foot on the loose corner of a rug, the felt fringing brushing over her toes where they stick out of her sandals. The shock of it all but sends her into a panic, until she is able to connect physical stimulus to physiological reaction again.

She has spent such a long time laying in a bed. The sheets all feel identical, the pillows are always stacked to the same height, the temperature in her room is controlled and as such never deviates. She has not _felt_ in years. She only moves when others decide it is so; when her bedlinen is changed or when she is moved to reduce the risk of sores. Or, when a nurse lathes a damp cloth over her skin because Waverly cannot do it for herself.

It is humiliating, all of it. She has been dehumanised, depersonalised - she has lost her essence.

But here and now there is none of that to deal with.

Here at least, she has agency in some ways.

For all intents and purposes, she is herself.

So, once she has reacquainted herself with her extremities, she finally decides it is worth leaving the armchair.

Her legs are shaky, but her feet are planted firmly on the floor and it even feels like she is standing upright. It is easy to forget her reality. She supposes that is the point of it.

Walking with a natural gait comes to her surprisingly quickly, and it is hard to tell what bodily functions in San Junipero are muscle memory or all just part of a computer code.

She can hardly ask Wynonna to lend out the FAQ manual.

The technician who had dropped off and booted the equipment (under Jeremy and Dolls’ watchful supervision, Waverly understands) had only explained that the simulation worked a little differently for everyone.

‘It’s the most advanced VR system in the world’, she had said with a note of humour in her voice, like she was oversimplifying matters. ‘But the key to the system is you,’ she went on, before amending, ‘or the user.’

She had been speaking to Dolls and Jeremy, because of course no one speaks to Waverly in that respect anymore. No one passes that kind of necessary information to her first - it all goes through someone else.

Still, Waverly had heard enough to glean the basics. One of the medical staff would press a button at seven o’clock every Saturday night and she would perceive herself to be elsewhere. She had precisely five hours to do as she pleased in what was described as a small, pleasant city called San Junipero. When she ‘arrived’ she was to find signs of life - if she so wished.

She was to do, more or less, whatever she pleased.

But after years stuck in one room, the notion of choice now seems unbearable.

For a while, she is tempted to stay put. This apartment is probably supposed to be her ‘home’ in San Junipero. It does seem tailored to her, although it is perhaps a little surplus to requirements when she will only be on a standard dosage. But she likes the idea of ‘arriving’ here and finding herself in a private space. It is a far more appealing thought than simply flicking a switch and finding herself stood in the street.

But then a clock on the mantelpiece tells her it is skirting eight o’clock, and something like panic rises to her throat.

She is wasting time, or at least that is how it feels to her in that moment.

In four hours she will be back in hospital, stuck motionless and without voice for another week.

She reminds herself that nothing here is real. That even if something bad were to happen, the consequences will simply right themselves as part of the program.

She could go outside and take a walk. She could start small. But she should do _something_.

 

 

 

 

 

She feels about one wrong move away from total sensory overload.

This is supposed to be fun. She can see that the person she used to be would have delighted in a place like this.

But she hasn’t been that person in almost half a decade.

It all feels like a vicious circle. She wants to take joy in what she is experiencing, and she wants to be thankful for the gift she has been given. She wants to delight in the feeling that anything could happen. But every frustrating moment in which she feels totally out of her depth only sends her into a deeper panic as she senses that she is continuing to waste time.

At the very least, she can appreciate that it is truly beautiful here.

She makes it outdoors by sunset, and the sun’s graceful descent below the horizon casts everything in the most beautiful shade of pink that Waverly thinks she has ever seen.

She cannot ever remember seeing a sunset this beautiful, and somehow this reminder that San Junipero isn’t real only sets off another ache in her chest.

All the same, it is a blessing for her eyes to be open for a change. She has been asleep for so long, she had forgotten the simple, sweet joy of even the most mundane sights.

Her apartment - fourth floor, west-facing she discovers as she makes her way outside - is set on a wide street which seems to be mostly residential. By the time she makes it there, people are already enjoying their Saturday freedoms. Clusters of people - almost exclusively young, fashionable, and radiant-looking - have gathered around outdoor seating areas, and half of the groups have music playing from some unseen source.

Waverly discovers the group responsible for all the Taylor Swift: a small selection of people clustered at a tiny, quaint bistro just below her window. They are playing something completely different by the time Waverly is outside.

( _Stripped to the waist, we fall into the river…_ )

As Waverly walks, directionless and lost, she discovers that San Junipero seems almost stuffed to the brim with places of entertainment. She passes a large movie theatre (inexplicably advertising showing times for _Life of Pi_ and _The Hunger Games_ of all things) and countless bars, bistros, restaurants, and clubs.

She cannot hope to take it all in at once, and the first thing her eyes do properly is send a few tears over her cheeks. It is a while before she remembers that she can wipe them away, and the feeling of her fingers on her face - skin against skin - is a marvel in itself.

She walks and walks, forgetting that it does not especially matter if she gets lost. She would like to keep her bearings for future visits of course, but the worst that can happen is that she wanders until midnight.

She has so many questions about this place. Mundane, functional questions.

Things like _will I rematerialise where I left off?_ or _will I have any memory of my last visit?_ or _why does it feel like I’m stuck in the past?_

The movies, the music, the clothes people are wearing - nothing feels quite like the world she left. Half of the people seem to be in glittery high heels and those wearing makeup seemed to be favouring such bright colours Waverly feels like she has stepped back in time. She passes an electronics store on her journey and every one of the televisions seems to be showing reruns of the Olympics from a few years ago. The one in London.

It is like being the new kid at school, trying to find the science block or learn her timetable. She has no idea if what she is doing is right and has no way to check once she leaves. She is simply aware that she does not want to return to her half-life in Purgatory with nothing to show for another stab at freedom. Of course, no one would know either way except her. But it matters all the same.

She looks around for some kind of guidance, trying to settle on a plan of action.

 _The next person who stands out_ , she decides eventually. _I’m going to do whatever they do_.

 

 

 

 

 

It doesn’t take long.

Waverly has sat herself down on a metal bench beneath a little cluster of trees. For a while, people pass by in groups and while they all look interesting in their own ways - they are strangers, with their own lives and their own reasons for being in San Junipero after all - Waverly does not feel drawn to them.

Plus, she realises quickly, it feels somewhat intimidating to just approach a whole group of strangers at once.

Something like that might not have occurred to her in the time before.

Now though, she feels uncertain and particularly worried that she is missing out a whole lesson on nuance and etiquette here in a world of the dead or dying. That in itself makes her feel out of sorts. After all, she falls into neither category.

So, she starts focussing on lone passers-by, but finds that most are walking with a quick sense of purpose and, Waverly realises as she checks her watch, they probably do not want to lose any of their remaining time in San Junipero to green-fingered novices.

Then, just as the first signs of darkness thread through the city - black paint dipped into clear, clean water - Waverly sees her.

A woman walking on the other side of the street, hands in her pockets and gait long but even.

She is tall, sufficiently so to draw Waverly’s eye, and has striking red hair under a black beanie hat which, in the end, is what seems to hold Waverly’s gaze.

She is walking with direction but not rushing, alone but not seeming to search the street for company, and Waverly cannot take her eyes off her.

She feels her heart race, half-surprised at how naturally her body slips into its old ways - how she doesn’t even notice most of the sensations that had been absent for far too long.

She puts the feeling down to nerves. Waiting had been easy; a good excuse to sit and people watch. Now though, she feels compelled to follow through on her own promise and, almost of her own accord, she feels herself rising to stand when she sees the woman duck into a bar fifty feet away from Waverly’s vantage point.

Waverly follows, having absolutely no clue as to what she will actually do once she is inside.

She has no intention to actually speak to the woman - she has no idea what she would say to her for a start - only to follow the lead of someone who looks far more at ease here than Waverly feels.

Waverly crosses the street and, taking a deep breath, ducks inside the bar.

The familiarity of the environment hits her immediately. This place is bigger than Shorty’s was, and it is more of a bar-club hybrid with its loud music and ample dance floor. Even so, Waverly knows bars and she knows the atmosphere they create.

With its lights and cacophony of shouts and pumping music, this place is arguably much more overwhelming than being outside and yet Waverly feels herself exhaling in relief.

She can handle a bar.

She can handle watered down drinks and bad singing and loud, loud music.

_Don’t you worry, don’t you worry child. See, heaven’s got a plan for you..._

The woman she followed inside has momentarily disappeared, and Waverly tries hard not to search for her. People don’t come to San Junipero for others to trail after them like lost puppies.

That being said though, Waverly is not entirely sure what the majority do come to San Junipero _for_.

It seems kind of like a party town - deliberately set up to accommodate the boundless feeling of a Saturday night out; pure anticipation and unbridled hedonism. Although the thought still appeals to some lost part of Waverly, she wonders if it is the same for everyone else.

As she waits to get a drink, she looks at the people around her. _They are all young_ , she notes, _as young as me_. She cannot help but wonder at it. Tragic accidents happen every day, but the vast majority of people died when they were old. She considers whether this is a place to reclaim lost youth and she feels a tiny dart of bitterness pierce her stomach.

_She never got to have it the first time around, not really._

She catches herself as soon as the thought enters her head. She has promised herself time and again that she would not resent others.

She orders a Jack and coke when it is her turn, because she does not like the idea of how a beer might sit in her stomach (or how it would seem to, at any rate). Something about the drink feels a little like home, and she feels an absurd wave of emotion hit her when it is placed on the bar in front of her.

The barman does not ask for money, which is good because Waverly does not know if she has any. She moves away to find an empty booth and angles herself to watch people dancing. They look like they are having fun, and Waverly both enjoys the sight of it and detests feeling like an outsider.

Being on the periphery had become a way of life for her, and she was loathe to feel that way even in a place that she was supposed to be free.

She feels her eyes fill, and obstinately swallows down a gulp of her drink in attempt to drown the tears, determined that she will not make a spectacle of herself here.

Both the whiskey and the bubbles in the coke burn her throat. It takes her a moment to realise that this is the first thing she has drunk for herself in all this time. She almost laughs. It would not have been her first choice. It sounds stupid, but she misses hot tea - but it hardly seems like the place to order something like that.

 _Perhaps_ , she reasons, _I should have chosen one of the little cafes instead_.

She is just beginning to think she will finish her drink and leave again, wondering if there might be any way to opt back _out_ of this program again, when something - she will think of it later as providence - intervenes.

A man slides into the seat opposite her at the booth - young in much the way of everyone else here, and not unattractive but equally not someone who might have caught her eye either.

“It breaks my heart,” he says by way of greeting, “a beautiful girl like you sitting there all on your own.”

Waverly wants to roll her eyes but instead remains impassive. Years of working at Shorty’s had brought about enough interactions like this, before; during; _and_ after her relationship with Champ. They had been taxing then and were shaping up to be no less taxing now.

The difference, however, is that Waverly about feels at the end of her tether right now. She is overwhelmed, unsure of how to conduct herself here, (hell, she is unsure of whether she even wants to be here at all), and she really does not need this right now.

“Don’t you worry about me,” she says, faking a cheery smile and easy tone.

“I guess I can’t help it,” the guy says, smiling again in a way that is nowhere near as chivalrous as he thinks.

Waverly sighs.

“Listen,” she begins, but the man has already continued speaking.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend here. You’re hot as hell and there’s still two hours before midnight. I figured you looked like you could use - ”

But however he was intending to finish that sentence - some fun, cheering up, a distraction - Waverly does not find out because she feels someone else knock into her side as they sit down next to her. In tandem, an arm snakes its way tight over her shoulders.

“ _Hey_ girl,” an enthusiastic voice says and Waverly finds herself unexpectedly enveloped in the presence of the red-haired woman from earlier. She has a beer in her hand, which she comfortably sets down on the table. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you here!”

The woman pulls Waverly into a sideways hug and settles her chin on Waverly’s shoulder. Dropping all false enthusiasm from her voice, she whispers,

“If for some absurd reason you’re actually interested in going off with that douche canoe, then just say _‘it’s my first night_ ’ and I’ll go away again.”

She pulls away, leaving Waverly with an overwhelming scent of vanilla clinging to her clothes. It is one of the first sensations that has not felt all-consuming in a bad way, and Waverly breaths it in. She has not smelt vanilla in a long, long time.

It had not even been a scent she had particularly strong opinions on before but with relief seeping through her at a get-out clause, it might be her new favourite smell.

It never even enters Waverly's head to turn down this stranger's offer of help.

“Oh my God!” she works to feign as much surprise and enthusiasm as the other woman, finding it comes fairly naturally. “It must have been, what? Ten years?”

“Eleven,” the other woman says decisively and Waverly grins at the neat touch. She turns to the man opposite them, who clearly is not buying the fake reunion thing, but hardly has much basis to question it. “You don’t mind, do you? What’re the odds bumping into someone here, you know?”

Grudgingly, he agrees to this point and moves away again. As soon as he has gone, Waverly breathes a sigh of relief.

“ _Thank you_.”

“Hey, no problem,” the woman says with a smile that etches beautiful dimples into both cheeks. “All girls together, right?”

Waverly chuckles but something feels off about the woman's reason for helping. The stranger must sense it because she pulls a face.

“And like, don’t take this the wrong way but I saw you come in,” she adds. “You looked kind of lost. I figured the last thing you needed was that guy making things worse. He kind of has a reputation round here; doesn’t like the word ‘no’, likes to take it as a challenge. You know, _that_ kind.”

Waverly blushes and struggles to hold the stranger’s gaze. She has deep brown eyes and an indescribably pretty face.

“Is it that obvious that I’m new? I mean, you basically used it for your code word so...”

“Look, if the rest of us can spot a first-timer a mile off, it’s only because we were all the same,” the woman says with a kind smile. “Anyone who says different is a liar. This place is stupidly overwhelming.”

For some reason, Waverly feels her blush spread. “Normally I could handle guys like him, it’s just…”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it for a second. I’d bet on you in a fight.” The other woman smiles and although Waverly knows she is making a joke at her expense, there is somehow no malice in the stranger’s face.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Not even slightly, it takes guts to walk into a bar like this on your first night in San Junipero. Trust me. So it doesn’t hurt to have some help sometimes.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Waverly starts. “I mean, I really appreciate it. But I know we all only have a few hours here. I’m sure you have better places to be.”

Internally, Waverly cringes. She has no idea why she is sending this woman away, only that she does not want to be a burden on someone here. She gets enough of that at home.

Ignoring her, the woman sips her beer again. “I’m Nicole. And first of all, I have absolutely no plans for tonight.”

Waverly waits, but Nicole does not speak again.

“What’s second of all?” Waverly asks eventually.

“Second of all, you’re really pretty,” she says, grinning.

“Oh, I uh - ”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Nicole says. “Just tell me your name, if you want to.”

“It’s Waverly.”

Nicole smiles and tests Waverly’s name on her tongue.

“Like that?” she asks, checking her pronunciation and Waverly nods. “It’s pretty, I’ve just never heard it before.”

“You and everyone else,” Waverly says, finally smiling back as her blush dies down.

It takes them both a while longer to realise that Nicole still has her arm around Waverly’s shoulders. They both seem to notice as one, when Waverly moves to pick up her drink. Slowly and looking unbothered, Nicole withdraws her arm. She pushes the uncuffed sleeve of a green plaid shirt up to her elbow. They are still sitting close, however, neither having moved much since Nicole sat herself in Waverly’s personal space.

Her body is pleasantly warm against Waverly’s and she is in no hurry to scoot back.

They both take a drink and then Nicole speaks again.

“So it really is your first night here, huh?” she asks and, again, Waverly nods. “Well, from my experience it gets better if you keep coming back. You get to know how it all works eventually.”

Waverly chews this over for a second.

“How long have you been here?” she asks, before panicking. “Shit. Is that even something I should say to people?”

“I mean, honestly? I wouldn’t ask just anyone right off the bat, just to be safe. But I genuinely don’t mind. I’ve been coming here a couple of months.”

“Thanks,” Waverly says. “I’ll take any advice I can get. And thanks too for not biting my head off for the dumb question.”

“It’s not dumb, there’s a lot to learn,” Nicole replies, voice gentle and ever-present smile gentler still. Waverly studies her face for a beat longer than she perhaps should, casting about for something to say in response.

“I feel kind of bad for not enjoying it right now.”

It is not really what she intended to say, but it has been so long since she has spoken to another person that she cannot help but offload something.

“Yeah, it’s not for everyone,” Nicole tells her evenly. “But I’d give it a few visits before making that decision, if you feel you can. Maybe try out some different areas _and_ some different eras if this one isn’t your thing. I haven’t done much of that but there’s probably time.”

Waverly feels her head spin and reevaluates the amount she has had to drink. Not nearly enough to be hearing things. Her heart sinks. She is really and truly out of her depth.

“Different eras?”

Nicole raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow. Okay. Whoever did your hardware royally screwed you over.”

“I’m starting to feel that, yeah.”

“Right. San Junipero 101. The town is basically the same every time you visit, but you have the freedom to visit during any _past_ era you want. We just can’t ever go forward. You just kind of, think it and you go there. Think it and you get the clothes you want - all stuff like that, mind controlled in a way that feels totally nuts the first few times. Only places you don’t do it is where you want the authentic feeling - queueing at a bar and so on, because who _doesn’t_ miss that experience?” Nicole jokes and inspite of the nerves in her stomach Waverly smiles.

She lets this information settle with her for a while.

“Okay,” she says, drawing the word out between them. “So when are we now? And since I didn’t decide, why did I get put here?”

“It’s 2012,” Nicole says. “I started off here too, so I’ve been coming back. I think they just pick a year that has good memories or good connotations. Would that make sense to you?”

Waverly casts her mind back. 2012 - she had turned seventeen that year, but it was a great summer and a great year at school afterwards. They were almost adults, people had their licences, and they finally felt like they had freedom. There were parties, she was head cheerleader. She was starting to feel like _Waverly_ more, starting to grow into herself. There had been a killer New Years party…

“It would,” she decides eventually and Nicole nods as if Waverly has confirmed something more than just her first visit to San Junipero. “What? What did I say?”

“I just,” Nicole begins, choosing her words. “I kind of got the impression you were from my time too. There’s not many of us here, I don’t think.” Nicole’s forehead creases, like she is sorry, but she does not say anything to that effect.

Waverly supposes that must be a big part of life here, knowing that people have sad stories and not daring to ask more.

There is so much more Waverly wants to ask, but time is slipping away from them now so she has to prioritise.

“Why _is_ everyone our age? The age we really are, I mean?”

Nicole pulls a confused face. “I haven’t dared ask. I would assume it’s like those weird little philosophy questions you get. ‘What would you look like in heaven if everything’s meant to be perfect?’ - then everyone answers you’d look like the version of yourself you were happiest with.”

“I suppose if I died old or whatever, I’d want to come back as a version of me from better times,” Waverly points out, and in response Nicole’s face falls for a moment before she covers the emotion. Waverly makes a mental note to spend the next week reviewing every possible blunder you could make in the afterlife.

It must be so easy to say something insensitive here.

“What happens when we leave?” she asks, keen to fill the silence.

“What, weekly? Nothing much,” Nicole says, draining her drink. “Just the reverse of what happened coming here. You feel like someone’s flipped a switch and you’re waking up again elsewhere.”

Waverly nods, already dreading the feeling of waking - but not waking properly. Of the blackness of leaden eyelids and the impossibility of stricken limbs.

San Junipero might have been overwhelming, but settling now and talking to someone for the first time in a long time is starting to make her ease up. She almost has the sense that she does not want to leave.

“And coming back next time?”

Nicole smiles again. “Well I’m glad you’re considering a next time. You start the same most times. It can vary if you put some thought into where you want to be, but mostly you’ll be in a home they designed for you based on your memories or your desires.”

“So you don’t just pick up where you left off?”

“It’s never happened to me, no.”

“So you could meet someone in a place in one year, and then never see them again if they hop from year to year?” Waverly says, trying to get her head around it. “Never bump into them again?”

She does not quite know if she is asking this with an agenda. It has been nice speaking with Nicole, nice to feel like she at least knows one other person here. But again, she does not want to feel like she is trailing after one person like a shadow.

“Nope,” Nicole says, popping the ‘p’. “Not unless you make plans to.”

Waverly is about to speak again, perhaps suggest meeting here again in a week, when a new song starts up and Nicole throws her head back and laughs.

“God this was a party staple back then.”

_I threw a wish in the well, don’t ask me I’ll never tell…_

Waverly cannot help but laugh too. She and Chrissy danced to this song more times than Waverly could now count. She feels her mood do a dizzying one eighty. Perhaps she really can recapture something of the past here. And Nicole is nice.

“Do you dance?” Waverly asks, feeling bold and almost scared to ask a relative stranger to dance to a song from her youth. She checks her watch. They still have one hour.

“I never used to,” Nicole says lightly. “But I do make a few notable exceptions now.”

“What kind of exceptions?” Waverly asks hopefully.

“Exceptions for simulated dance floors and pretty girls,” Nicole says, letting Waverly take her hand.

 

 

 

 

 

There is no real direction to the dancing. There are no specific moves, nothing which really makes sense, only that Waverly has not moved like this in years and she has had no one to move with.

The longer she settles here the easier it feels. It isn’t perfect yet, but Waverly feels the shackles of her reality back at home loosen slightly.

It is clear that Nicole is not much of a dancer, but she tries for Waverly, who does her best not to think about Nicole’s bright smile or the way she keeps calling Waverly pretty.

She must know that there is no time for anything to happen between them now, and besides - Waverly has never once in her life considered _that_ with another woman anyway. She tries not to think about strings or attachments, but still wonders if Nicole is following a different thought process entirely.

They both sing along to the best parts of the song - _before you came into my life I missed you so bad_ \- and try to enjoy a slightly off-tone Kesha song ( _Die Young_ , in this environment?) before eventually conceding defeat at the next track and sitting back down.

“Thank you,” Waverly says when they have both caught their breath. “For helping me out earlier, and for dancing.”

“No problem,” Nicole says, cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. “I had fun - it’s what we’re here to do.”

This makes Waverly question something that has been bothering her all night.

“Is it always just a party town?”

She stares across at the dancefloor. It is not a bad thing - far from it in fact, when Waverly has spent half her life moving around a bar like it is her second home.

“Just?” Nicole asks, raising an eyebrow and grinning playfully. “You don’t like to party?”

Waverly smiles, eyes darting down to the table before she finds the courage to look back up and hold Nicole's gaze.

“Oh, I love to party,” Waverly says, voice heavy with implication.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“That seems kind of presumptuous you know.”

“Well, what can I say? Either this year or a couple either side,” Nicole spreads her palms. “I’m here every week.”

The song shifts yet again and just as Waverly wants to reply, wants to ask if she can see Nicole again, everything goes black.

 

 

 

 

 

She comes to in her hospital bed, pinned down and anxious like there is a weight on her chest. She can hear the tread of a nurse in the room, humming a sad tune Waverly recognises from years ago.

There is nothing to show from San Junipero, nothing to tell her it wasn’t all a vivid dream.

Then, knowing it is midnight, she does her best to shut her mind off because the last thing she wants is throw a carefully-cultivated routine out of order.

She tries for sleep and the closer it looms the more convinced she becomes that she will wake tomorrow and realise that San Junipero was a figment of her imagination, that she only dreamed the red-haired woman with a beautiful, easy smile.

But then, it comes back to her; the sweet scent of vanilla pods.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Jeremy visits.

She hears a rustling and can assume that he has brought flowers.

Jeremy always brings flowers.

She likes to smell them, but cannot say for sure whether he realises this when he buys them.

“A little bird told me that you hightailed it out of here last night,” he says brightly.

Waverly can at least say that, to Jeremy’s credit, his acting skills have vastly improved over the years. His forced cheer never sounded so convincing in the beginning,. It almost manages to fool Waverly now, but he never really sustains it well.

Today, he does not even seem to want to try.

“I don’t know where you went Waves,” he murmurs sadly. “But I sure hope you had a lot of fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...what did everyone think as the start to the story? I promise the chapters are laid out so that eeeeverything is explained eventually. 
> 
> The bg to this fic involves me stumbling across another San Junipero au I planned but never wrote. Because I have a one-track mind my brain went “okay buy wayhaught…” I immediately pictured all the fun I’d have writing wayhaught’s fluffy SJ interactions. Then I started the fic and remembered that the underlying principle is actually inherently really angsty and boom insecurities. So I really would appreciate aaaall the reassurance/comments if you guys think this is handled well as it progresses. I know I always say I’m nervous about my fics/writing, but I’m reaaaally nervous about this one. If you think it’s not going so well, lmk too. I’m already sooo grateful to everyone who commented on my latest two oneshots - did NOT expect the response I got, thank you so, so much. 
> 
> And, **very importantly!!!!,** If you’re at earpercon this weekend come say hi to me pleaaase I swear I’m nice!!  
> Anyway, I think that’s all just the usual social media links! If you use twitter, come say hi to me either @rositabustiiios (fic picspam/graphic: https://twitter.com/rositabustiIIos/status/1039602360945922049) or @alissawrites, and if you prefer tumblr i’m birositabustillos (fic post here: http://birositabustillos.tumblr.com/post/177983345958/). 
> 
> I’d also really, really appreciate it if you could share my [ko-fi](ko-fi.com/alissawrites) (ko-fi.com/alissawrites) or even drop me a little message on it for the front page! This fic is shaping up to be another 100k affair and I do this because I adore it, but it’s also something I try and do alongside full time work, original writing I want to pursue, and all other life responsibilities I’m trying to juggle whilst I eventually try and get myself to writing school so any shares would really, really be appreciated! 
> 
> Until next Tuesday, have a lovely week and take care one and all!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly has to make a decision on whether she wishes to engage in the outside of life of San Junipero. The world is suddenly her oyster: when will she go? And will fate bring Nicole to her again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm somehow still awake after a busy asf weekend and here to post the update!! Thank you so much for your lovely comments on the first chapter - I'm so very glad people like the idea! 
> 
> This week's spotify playlist is here: https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/5vm06bmHuPRfm8LMbasY1s?si=2IBPdmepSPGCBnV7R0gh7w
> 
> I'm still just trying to set up the universe/context etc., at the moment but I hope you like the getting to know you vibe between Waverly and Nicole. Please do let me know what you think!

******Not Saturday. 2023.**

 

Wynonna does not call round until what Waverly assumes is Sunday evening.

Waverly hears two lots of footsteps enter the room, joining a nurse who has been chattering merrily away while she fills in a set of obs.

The nurse greets Wynonna brightly, insisting that she won’t be much longer.

“It’s fine, thanks for your help,” Waverly hears Wynonna say. “Any change?”

“Not for the better _or_ the worse,” the nurse replies evenly and Waverly hears the silence that follows for a few beats.

“Not even after?” Wynonna does not elucidate, and Waverly can only assume a quiet shake of the head on the nurse’s part.

Another voice joins the conversation.

“Black Badge never had the tech pegged for a cure,” Dolls says gently, and Waverly imagines him with a hand on Wynonna’s forearm.

“Yeah, I know that genius,” Wynonna says sharply, before sucking in a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I just meant - _shit_. I don’t know what I meant. I just wondered about brain activity and stuff like that. I don’t know shit about it but don’t you guys monitor that sort of thing?”

“Waverly’s brain activity has always been perfect,” comes the nurse’s eventual reply, voice measured and cautious. “That’s what makes her condition all the more puzzling to all of us here, and why we’re certain she’s fully conscious even now. Putting her through the program won’t really affect that activity, except perhaps the _parts_ of her brain that are engaged at any one time.”

“But wouldn’t that tell us something?” Wynonna insists, pressing the issue as she has done with multiple medical issues before this one. “Whether the program is working, I guess?”

“Your best bet is to talk to the specialist, next time she’s around. I’ll check the rota and let you know, okay?”

The nurse is good - diplomatic but firm in the way Wynonna needs. She is new and no one had told Waverly her name yet, but this is no surprise. People forget she can hear them sometimes.

The unknown nurse leaves - Waverly can assume this much by the soft squeak of her shoes and the tiny click of the door.

“I know you want to know that she liked it,” Dolls begins, but then does not finish the thought.

Waverly hears them both settle in chairs near her bedside. After a moment, a touch she recognises as Wynonna’s settles over her left hand.

“What if she spent every second hating it?” Wynonna asks. “I made that call. It’ll be my fault.”

“You and I both know that Waverly would never think of it like that. There’s no price to pay for trying to make an unprecedented, terrible situation a bit more bearable Wynonna.”

Not for the first time in her life, Waverly could kiss Xavier Dolls - in fact she would, if she physically could. He is what her sister needs; he always was, before and after Waverly was hospitalised. Cool and calm where Wynonna could be hot-headed, rational and grounding in a way Wynonna could bounce off - it was a partnership that worked, somehow.

Wynonna draws in a long, unsteady breath.

“Sorry babygirl, I know you get enough of people talking to you like you’re not here.”

Wynonna gives her hand a quick squeeze and Waverly still knows that after all this time, her sister holds her breath and waits for Waverly to squeeze back.

As ever, she wills the action into existence, she implores her body to give back - but nothing works. Waverly herself was probably the first to give up hope that things might change, and she knows that Wynonna will be the last.

“We did some more demon-hunting today,” Dolls says, taking it upon himself to fill the silence. “We’d been looking for this guy for weeks, not a revenant obviously - ”

“We’re pretty satisfied there’s only a few of them left - ”

“And we like them, so since the curse is broken we figure there’s no need to put em’ through hell,” Dolls concludes, as he and Wynonna fall into their usual routine of bouncing off one another.

“Like is a strong word,” Wynonna points out and Waverly hears Dolls chuckle.

“We are grateful to Rosita for the constant supply of drugs BBD will not make for me themselves,” he says pointedly. “Besides, I caught you chatting with Rosita across the bar the other day, I know you two get on. You’re not a hardass and you’re not fooling anyone.”

“She hasn’t been able to visit recently, she was asking after Waverly. Who thinks I’m a hardass.”

“Waverly knows better than anyone that you’re a big softie.”

They settle into a pretend debate and Waverly feels herself relax. It is nice when they include her like this, and although it frustrates her to her very core that she has so much to say and no way to say it, she has learned to take small mercies where she can.

People visit her regularly, and even though it makes her feel guilty it also bolsters her. Most days, they manage to keep up the pretence that things are fine and no one is sinking under the weight of this ongoing state of being on Waverly’s part. By now, Waverly has learned how, even in her saddest of moments, to keep any tears at bay until her family have left.

Things are going terribly, but they are going.

 

 

 

 

 

**Not Saturday. 2016.**

 

_The black, shimmering liquid on the ground calls to her._

_It is a voice inside her head which hisses her name. Waverly is strong but the essence of the strange, globular substance is stronger._

_Waverly knows, of course she does, that you shouldn’t just touch the unexplained, black puddle on the ground. You especially do not touch the goo here - on what might just be the most supernatural part of an already super-supernatural area._

_But it is_ calling _to her. It needs her. It wants her in a way that no one else has ever wanted her._

_She fights it, but it fights harder._

 

 

 

 

 

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

 

Unsurprisingly, there are only a limited number of ways for Waverly to fill her days.

None of them can be initiated or controlled by her, and if she does not like the options presented to her then there is little she can do about it. People do her best for her though, and that is what matters when it comes down to it.

Early on, Dolls had suggested audiobooks, and the nurses were in the habit of leaving the television or the radio on for her at other times.

The books were a goldmine for Waverly, and the radio was enjoyable too - she likes the patter and natural conversation between the DJs and the way she can switch off without constantly following the thread of a story. The television is best when it brings news of current affairs in Purgatory and the wider world, but not always during the daytime soaps.

Everything had started off as a temporary fix, because the rest of the team had been adamant that they would find a solution sooner rather than later.

They still had Black Badge proper back then, not the shell of an organisation it had become. They had optimism too, and a well of options - but nothing had worked. Every drug, every piece of new tech, every false hope had deflated them all and what had started off as stopgap solutions had long since become a way of life for Waverly now.

And it was a way of life that was out of her control. If she did not like a story, she could not ask that it be changed. If she wanted to listen to the radio earlier rather than later that day, then there was no way for her to control her schedule. And when she found her mind wandering to the events of Saturday night, she had to run the risk of being distracted during the latest audiobook and missing the denouement entirely. She could not request that someone rewind it for her.

Luckily, the audiobook had been a bust from start to finish. The hero was unlikeable and the heroine was a two-dimensional cardboard cutout, clearly written by a man. They end up together - Waverly catches that much. Outside of that, however, she is distracted by San Junipero.

Something about the place still unsettles her. The way it is real but not real; a facsimile that was so convincing it was fast leaving a dent in Waverly’s concept of reality.

After months spent working with Black Badge, she had little sense of trust in the tech. All those people she saw, the ones supposedly using the same program as her - she had no guarantee that they weren’t all just part of the simulation.

Somehow, that matters to her.

It is one - admittedly terrifying - thing to know that the people there existed once, and it is another entirely to consider that Black Badge has made them up.

But Nicole had felt so _real_.

She had been laid back and likeable, and didn’t seem like she was trying so hard to cling onto something once lost.

Believing in the authenticity of San Junipero also meant making an assumption that Black Badge had been truthful about a technology they themselves had owned long enough only to patent and sell onto a private buyer.

In San Junipero, this woman called Nicole had said that they, she and Waverly, were from the same era and so (assuming that BBD were to be trusted for once) this meant that somewhere in the real world right now was another version of Nicole. A version that was ailing or perhaps even dead already.

The whole concept unsettles Waverly further. A person she might never have met under other circumstances - one who might be thousands of miles away - had been talking to her, practically from the grave.

She feels her stomach squeeze at the thought of it. An instinctive part of her does not yet like San Junipero, but the same lonely, longing part of her that bent towards a puddle of black all those years ago compels her to go back again.

 

 

 

 

 

Jeremy is talking a mile a minute and these, Waverly knows already, are her favourite kinds of visits.

The ones where she can pretend things are normal, where - in another world - she and her loved ones would have sat together at home, at work, at a diner and they would have had this conversation properly.

She lives for the times when people really and truly forget her current state, when they are so excited to tell her something that they speak exactly as they would to a non-cursed, awake person.

“It’s ridiculous, really, because all the apps have basically been telling me I’m the only gay guy in like, a fifty mile radius,” he says, and Waverly can hear his smile. She pictures him beaming and the image warms her from the inside out.

“And obviously you know what I’m like,” he goes on, “so there’s like a zero percent chance I won’t screw this up. But he’s gay and he seemed to like me - as in, genuinely like me! Not ‘you’re gay, I’m gay and we don’t have a lot of other choices’ like me.”

He pauses, and Waverly hopes against hope that he remembers all of the details.

That is one of the worst parts of this situation - being told stories and having someone forget a detail here or there. She cannot ask for clarification and she has never liked cliffhangers.

“And obviously, meeting a guy through work - _our_ work - is a terrible idea. And I’m fairly certain accepting an offer of a coffee date with a witness contravenes something but hey. Black Badge all-but abandoned us - except, well, you know - so I guess I can do what I want.”

This, Waverly understands, means that Black Badge withdrew all funding and destroyed any evidence of an association with their team, but did seem to feel some sense of guilt or enduring attachment because they got Waverly onto the San Junipero program surprisingly quickly, even after they had long-since sold the patent on. They paid her hospital bills too, so far as she understands.

 _Tell me when the date is_ , Waverly urges Jeremy and she swears sometimes that she has increased her powers of telepathy over the years.

“So I'm meeting him on Saturday,” Jeremy adds. “Guess we both get a night out this weekend.”

He pauses abruptly and Waverly can almost hear his brain ticking over. She wants to laugh - she would give anything to laugh. She is not on board for just anyone making jokes about her situation without forethought, but she lives for her family giving the odd wisecrack here or there. She needs to hear them normalise it somehow, she must know that they can all make the best of it.

“It’s crazy,” Jeremy goes on quietly. “Because I know the Waverly I met, even for a short time, would have laughed with me, and said something rude back. Not as rude as Wynonna, obvs, but enough to get me back good. Now though, I don’t even know if I can say something like that. But then I think, ‘what if Waves would hate hearing us all be so serious all the damn time?’ and then I just panic.”

Not for the first time even this week, Waverly aches to reassure the people around her that it is okay. That it is all so far from okay but, somehow, it will be alright in the end.

God, she hopes it will all be alright one day.

“Anyway,” Jeremy says, going back to his original topic of conversation, “at first I was like ‘should I tell Waverly all this because I don’t want to be _that_ guy, you know?’ but then Rosita was like ‘dude, she’d kill you if you didn’t tell her’. And Rosie’s pretty much always right so I guess if I get annoying you’ll have to wake up and tell me.”

Waverly feels a little phantom shudder in her chest. It has been a long time since someone has used the ‘wake up and tell me to shut up’ tactic. If willing and wishing alone could change things, Waverly would not have been stuck here half so long.

She ignores the pang of sadness and returns to her own form of telepathy.

 _You better come see me on Sunday with all the gossip_.

“I’ll come around again the day after the date,” Jeremy says immediately. “I want to tell you how it goes first.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2009.**

**Visit 2.0**

 

The nurse affixes something to Waverly’s head just as she had the week before, but this time Waverly focusses her attention on a specific year.

Nicole had not told her exactly what she should do, so Waverly can only hope that thinking about the number will help. She imagines it on a calendar, for some reason an old-fashioned kind that Waverly had never actually used.   

She spends all of Saturday afternoon considering whether she should try to find Nicole again. She certainly hopes that they might run into each other by chance.

She cannot quite explain why, but she feels safe around Nicole and has this unbearable sense that she is still not quite ready to strike out on her own in San Junipero.

She just needs a little more time and Nicole had seemed nice. Maybe she would help her again.

On the flip side of the coin, however, something holds Waverly back. She knows it is more than a simple fear of being an unwanted tagalong. For all that Nicole made her feel safe, she almost made something burn and broil in Waverly’s stomach and, even after taking a week to consider it, Waverly still cannot say for sure what the problem is.

She wonders if others felt so nervous trying to make connections like this - if they had established groups in San Junipero by just being brave. She half-suspects that many people are old friends meeting up after a lifetime making connections, but she cannot say for sure.

She thinks about how easily she might have approached someone on a regular Saturday night if she had been her old self. She and Chrissy did not go out dancing in the city regularly, but they made a trip often enough. It had never bothered Waverly then, trying to flirt with guys or chat with women in the bathroom.

Now though, in a place with rules that Waverly could not yet parse out, everything felt more daunting.

She was scared to say or do something wrong, to prove herself a novice here.

So she had opted for a different year entirely, thinking that she could always travel around a bit if it did not work out.

This time, when Waverly opens her eyes in a room she at least now recognises, she does not hesitate for quite as long. She heads to the bathroom, and checks her reflection in the mirror - something she had not done the time before.

She braces herself on the deep porcelain sink and looks herself in the eye for a long, long time.

It is strange to find the face looking back at her so unchanged. It is reassuring in some ways, but in others it feels like an affront. So much has happened but no one would tell it to look at her. Her face feels in some ways like a mask and it takes her a while to tear her eyes away from the sight of herself.

She figures, at least, that the power of thought must have worked, though, because she finds herself kitted out in bold dangly earrings and a pretty floral shift dress, with a set of bright-edged sunglasses perched on her head and ready to go. Late noughties to a tee. She might barely have been a teenager but she remembers it all vividly.

She cannot say why she chose this year - or rather, she will not admit it to herself. If she is to spend any time here feeling happy, she has to compartmentalise until she gets back again.

She makes it out of her apartment much earlier this time, and she is out walking the streets by eight thirty. This time, understanding why things felt faded and vintage, she allows herself to delight in it a little more.

Being further in the past helps, somehow. It is nostalgic, like peering into all four corners of an old polaroid. Of course this isn’t real and now, for Waverly, it does not feel like it is trying to be. This is the distant, far-off memory of being thirteen, when life was configured so differently it is almost unrecognisable now.

Waverly feels herself smiling as she passes a group of people wearing kaftans that look as though they have come from the seventies; like they are all heading to a costume party. This feels gimmicky and stupid. This, at least, feels fun.

It is a solution, she decides, thinking that she might even try out the nineties once she feels a little more at home here. She was only four at the most, but the hazy memories of it feel warm and welcome and it would be nice to see it again as an adult.

For now, though, there is a replay of _The Blueprint 3_ playing from somewhere she cannot place and this time, the TV store is showing trailers for _Glee_. Somehow, it all helps her forget.

She watches her shoes as she moves on the sidewalk, half-amused by the shiny straps of the gladiator sandals. She gets herself to the same bar as the week before, the sign slightly different but the name and the building unchanged. Inside, the decor has not been radically altered, only a slightly brighter colour scheme, but the music is fitting and the people are just as enthusiastic as they were in 2012.

They are mostly different people, Waverly notes. Perhaps, like Nicole, everyone has their era of choice when it comes down to it.

She gets a drink, deciding on wine this time, and settles in the same booth as last week. She cannot say whether this is the first stirrings of a habit, or whether she is waiting for something.

Nicole had said she would be in 2012, or a perhaps a year roughly either side, and Waverly is not sure whether she has taken a step too far back in time.

This is also by Waverly’s design - a test of chance or fate again perhaps. She had asked last week for someone who stood out, and San Junipero had provided an answer of sorts.

More than Waverly needs guidance, she needs to feel in control. She wants to feel capable, as though she can actually do something on her own. While she is here, she has a chance to feel competent and in control of _something_.

So if this is a test of San Junipero, it is also a test of herself and, perhaps, of providence too.

 

 

 

 

 

By half past nine, she is two for two when it came to being approached by strange men in San Junipero.

This one, however, seems nicer than last week’s offering. He does not go for a stupid chat up line or a demeaning once-over up and down Waverly’s torso. He just politely asks to sit with her and strikes up friendly conversation.

The undertone is still clear, there is still a nuance to every interaction; a sense that they could retire together at any time, but it is not as tragic as last week.

At any rate, there is no one swooping in to avert the situation this time, but Waverly - feeling far less daunted now - feels equipped to handle one slightly flirtatious man.

Rather than making excuses, however, she instead makes the most of the company.

It is nice to be spoken to and be able to speak back. There is no easy connection as there had been last week with Nicole, but the man is charming enough to keep the back and forth flowing well. He is a decent conversationalist - supposedly he was a doctor, although it is hard to say whether this was true - and he even gets her a second glass of wine. Granted, this is not quite the same gesture in a world where nothing really costs anything, but she appreciates the thought.

Nonetheless, some things never change, even in the afterlife, because when he returns with their drinks he abandons his seat opposite her and opts to sit beside her instead.

His presence is nothing like Nicole’s had been. She had been close but contained and her touch had been weighty without feeling oppressive. By contrast, this man takes great pains to lean in closer, to drift a hand close to Waverly’s knee.

It is not uncomfortable, exactly, but it is too forward to be anything less than depressingly predictable.

She shifts under his touch and, to his credit, he withdraws his hand.

They somehow manage to talk about everything and still say very little. They skirt around almost all topics that could reveal their situations outside of San Junipero, and although Waverly has no desire to share the details of her present condition with this stranger, she sees how closely people here guard their secrets.

She reminds herself, too, that no one here would believe her if she told them her truth.

It is odd, speaking to a stranger with no sense of where or _when_ he is from, with no sense of age or life experience or background. Here, someone could be anyone and she suddenly understands that this must appeal to many of the people in the bar.

The man is telling her about his time in medical school - this does at least sound somewhat convincing - and trying to ask whether she had been to college, when the music shifts and everyone reacts in a similar manner.

Much like the week before, the music here throws back to better times and easier memories. It makes Waverly grin and it makes the man beside her laugh too.

“We should probably dance to this,” he says, flicking hair from his forehead. For the first time, a spark of something real shines through the polished exterior.

“Would be rude not to, probably,” Waverly agrees solemnly and finishes her wine. She feels the first buzz of the drinks hit her and when she stands she is woozy and light-headed. There is no sensation here that does not surprise her, not just because it feels real but because she feels it at all.

She starts to understand how people could feel at home here. It still sits like something out of place in her belly, but she is starting to get the attraction a little more now.  

They reach the floor by the chorus and settle into dancing by the next verse - _wanna feel reckless, I wanna live it up just because…_

Uninhibited by the booth (and perhaps free of a greater sense of propriety) the man makes his intentions clear and, for a moment, Waverly actually shocks herself by considering it. After all, it has been a while since she'd met any of those kinds of needs, and she is fundamentally incapacitated, not dead. It is hardly one of her primary concerns but all the same…

If nothing is real here, it could be no harm, no foul.

But as the man presses closer something heavy plunges into Waverly’s stomach and she knows it is a step too far.

The song fades and she makes her excuses.

“Sorry - bathroom.”

He merely nods and drifts back to the booth to wait for her, as the cover of the old Candi Staton song starts up.

Waverly hurries to the bathrooms, partly keen for a moment of relative calm and partly with a sense of urgency now that she has spoken the need to pee into existence.

It is another one on the ‘things that San Junipero simulates a little _too_ well to be entirely comfortable’ list.

She locks herself into a stall - the act of peeing both strange and not strange at once - and gives herself a moment to breathe.

It was going better, she realises. It was all going so much better than the last time.

Nicole had been right - you need to give it a chance.

Waverly is not sure that the shadow of San Junipero as _illusion_ and not _reality_ will ever leave her but this? She can handle this. This is better than a life sentence served 24/7 in a hospital bed.

Even so, she knows now that she has no desire to sleep with the man outside. He is nice, he looks cute, he is attractive, and he is somewhat earnest - were it real, things would almost certainly go a different way. But it is still too much too soon.

She practises her excuses as she washes her hands, knowing full well that she should not need one.

(She knows full well too how even the nicest of interactions can turn sour once the word ‘no’ is involved).

She is still fascinated by her reflection, taking time to tilt her head this way and that under the new, lower light of the bathroom. She has the place to herself. She takes her time. Every tiny freedom here is still some kind of odd joy; she hopes that part never changes.

Then, just as she pulls the main door open to leave again, she feels it fly forwards, weightless under her hand as another person pushes it inwards from the other side.

It makes her jump and her heart flies into her mouth. Then, a moment later, it lodges itself there when she sees who is standing on the other side.

Red hair still short, style still era appropriate: her hair straight, her jeans impossibly tight, and her simple t-shirt bright and eye-catching.

Waverly stares for a second before -

“Nicole?”

“Waverly, hi.” She seems much less rattled than Waverly feels. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you here tonight.”

“Oh. Well, I uh, I wasn’t following you or anything. I didn’t even know you were here. Not that I thought you were avoiding me or anything -” Waverly says quickly, unable to justify even to herself why that was her first thought, and why she had so desperately needed to vocalise it.

“I wouldn’t have thought otherwise,” Nicole says, looking somehow both puzzled and faintly amused. “I thought about coming to look for you, actually.”

Waverly feels her face fall into an expression of surprise, one that she is far too slow to conceal.

“You did?”

“Sure. I was thinking about you on your second visit - hoping you were getting on okay. I didn’t want to swamp you by turning up again, so I took a little detour.”

“I thought the same,” Waverly admits, “about not wanting to bother you again - ”

“No bother,” Nicole cuts in and her voice is firm enough to tell Waverly that she means what she says.

“I did think I’d maybe try and find you later, but then I got chatting.”

“Ah,” Nicole says, a knowing smile sliding over her face. “Not the same douchebag from last time, I hope?”

“No, less douchey this time.”

Nicole laughs, that same loud and easy laugh from last week. Times are different; she is consistent. Waverly likes that.

“Well then, I should let you get back to...that.” Nicole says this with a knowing glimmer to her eye and Waverly feels herself blush. It is stupid; as if she is not an adult, as if she is not someone who can be grown up about things like this.

“Oh, I uh - I don’t think _that_ is going to be happening. I’m just not sure I, well, I don’t feel - ” she pauses, trying hard to explain what exactly is holding her back, when she is not sure of the problem herself.

While she thinks, another woman enters the bathroom. Nicole and Waverly hurry out of the way, both apologising quickly. The other girl, drunk and a little lucid, smiles and bats away their apologies.

Girls in bathrooms - something else which seems to be timeless.

The movement brings Waverly nearer to Nicole, both of them grazing too close to each other’s personal spaces. Nicole grins playfully, looking down and accentuating the difference in height between them.

“Want to play the old, long-lost dying friend routine again after I’ve been to the bathroom?” Nicole says, grinning.

Waverly just grins back in response.

 

 

 

 

 

They do not bother to pretend that they want to stay in the bar after their little double-act is over. It is no fun shouting over the din or drinking more than either of them really intended.

It is obvious that Waverly is not the only one a little better served than last time. Nicole is far from drunk, but she is more sparing with her warm glances, a little looser in her movements. She is bolder, letting her hand brush Waverly’s once or twice on the way out of the bar.

It should bother Waverly, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t bother her at all.

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole directs them outside into a dingy, damp-looking back alley before starting to climb up a rickety old fire escape like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“What are you doing?” Waverly calls up after her, voice incredulous.

Nicole pauses, glances back down to the ground.

“What? You’re telling me you don’t want to pass the rest of this clear, warm summer night in San Junipero stargazing from the roof?”

Waverly hesitates for a few seconds, but eventually seems to act outside of her own volition. It is like the first time, searching for a person who draws her eye. Something about Nicole lingers, settling beneath Waverly’s skin and, even given a choice in the matter, she finds that she still wants to follow her. It is like a string pulling her in that direction and, as the ladder wobbles against Nicole's movements, Waverly starts her own ascent.

“What happens if I fall and break my neck in San Junipero?” she asks, mostly as a joke but partly out of curiosity too.

Nicole laughs as she hauls herself over the lip of the roof. She waits at the top for Waverly to catch up.

“You should get a version of that on a shirt,” she jokes, offering her hand to Waverly once they are in touching distance again.

Waverly accepts, letting Nicole steady her as she makes it onto the flat surface of the roof.

“But in seriousness not a lot,” Nicole says, eyes clouding over.

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Waverly points out and Nicole snorts.

“ _Obviously_ I would be very glad to know you were not in serious danger of irreparable harm here. But it's strange - the no consequences vibe. I watched some guy total his car the week before you came here. He must have been off his face drunk and behind the wheel - but what's to stop people here? You get out unscathed and you come back next week with your car just as you left it.”

Nicole shrugs, settling on a spot that faces outwards, away from the city and towards the dark horizon. She sits on the edge, feet dangling down into the nothing below them.

Gingerly, Waverly mirrors her. She had never been entirely sold on the concept of heights.

“Do you like it here?” she asks quietly, watching as Nicole stares into the night.

“On balance, yes,” she says, voice just as low. “It has problems but it's not like the place I come from doesn't too. It's different here so it unsettles people, but who's to say this different is the wrong different?”

For a while, Waverly can only sit in silence. She had scarcely thought of San Junipero in that way; different but not necessarily the wrong sort of different. It makes sense and it rearranges some of the thoughts she had been having about the place, about whether it was really for her.

Nicole seems to pick up on her mood, and she throws Waverly sidewards glance to check she is okay.

“You alright?” she asks, and Waverly can sense as much as see Nicole’s eyes roving the side of her face.

“What’s out there?” she asks in lieu of an answer, pointing into the distance. There is a dark blot that sits in the space where the city lights end and the dark outline of unoccupied land begins.

It almost seems to shimmer and Waverly has her suspicions but she hardly dares hope.

“You mean the beach?”

Nicole traces her own finger, matching where Waverly points.

“The _beach_?”

Waverly feels her spirits lift. If there is a beach, that must surely mean the ocean. If this is a sort of pseudo-heaven and there is a beach, it must be that kind of a beach.

“Sure, that one’s maybe a half hour walk from here. Too late to go now,” she says sadly, sounding surprised that Waverly had not been told. “But there’s more than just that one. I live near another, it’s where I started out here. We - I mean, you should check it out next week, it’s arguably much better than the bars.”

Waverly’s eyes must go wide, because Nicole does a double-take and adds, “are you okay?”

“I -” Waverly feels her voice shake, and she wants to kick herself for getting teary. “I have wanted to see the ocean all my life.”

“It’s beautiful,” Nicole murmurs, no hint of superiority in her voice at already knowing the sight that has evaded Waverly all this time. In fact, her tone almost says _I don’t blame you for wanting to see it._

Feeling uncharacteristically shy, Waverly gives herself a breather before she speaks again.

“Just before, you said about we - ”

“Yeah, sorry. Me being presumptuous, you don’t owe me your time -”

“Would you?”

Nicole’s body stiffens slightly next to Waverly’s. “Would I what?”

“Would you show me it sometime? The thought of the ocean has always captivated me, but it’s been overwhelming as well. I don’t think I’d want to experience it alone. I always dreamed of seeing it with my sister, actually.”

“Well I’m sorry I’m not your sister,” Nicole replies gently, her voice once again holding no malice or negative intonation. “But I’d love to be the random stranger that takes you to the ocean.”

She chuckles to herself, seemingly acknowledging the absurdity of their lives and how they have been meshed together.

“Thank you,” Waverly says, voice weighty with sincerity. “I didn’t even realise there was more to it than this.”

“There’s pretty much anything you want,” comes the evasive reply.

“It kind of struck me tonight, I guess,” Waverly adds, “that people here really do seem to party a lot here. They seem to want to hook up a lot.”

Nicole nods and Waverly turns to face her as she purses her lips.

“Yeah, it definitely seems like it,” she says, gradually meeting Waverly’s gaze. Her brown eyes shimmer in the moonlight. “Especially a lot of the tourists.”

“Tourists?”

“The ones who haven’t...moved here permanently.”

“Nice euphemism.”

Nicole raises an eyebrow. “ _Thanks_. Anyway, I guess most of them want some excitement while they’re trapped inside illness or old age, or whatever. Reclaim lost youth maybe? Or claim it for the first time, I guess.”

She sends a look between them, a deliberate and directed look, but says nothing more. She does nothing that makes Waverly feel especially exposed or vulnerable - only _seen_ \- and there is certainly no implication than an explanation is needed.

“And do they?” Waverly asks. “Do they reclaim their youth? Does it feel the same?”

She almost wants to ask if it works - fucking away the sadness. And yet that is so far from appropriate that she would not even know where to begin. She also wonders what she might think or do if Nicole says _yes_.

Instead, Nicole just grins playfully. “And she assumes I’m that kind of girl.”

“Oh - no, not at all. And there wouldn’t be anything wrong if you were I just assumed and I shouldn’t - ”

Biting back a smile so large her eyes crinkle, Nicole shakes her head.

“Waverly, it’s fine okay? It’s beyond fine. Yeah, I hooked up once and yeah, it feels the same - physiologically. Everything does, I think. Drinking, eating, and so on.”

Something in Nicole’s tone gives Waverly pause.

“Physiologically?”

“Yeah…”

“So not emotionally then?”

Nicole chuckles and holds her hands up. “Hey, I’ve hardly tested the system here. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never had anything against hookup culture; I don’t judge. But back in - not the _real_  world but the place we’re escaping - even being some other girl’s hookup felt different somehow. This feels empty, not because it’s a simulation but because it is what it is: a dying person trying to cling to life by touching me,” she pauses, looking sad. Then for levity, she adds, “I had enough of being everyone’s go-to lesbian at college.”

“I get that,” Waverly says, heaving a sigh. That had been the problem, she thinks, earlier. Then, half-panicked she adds, “not the lesbian part, obviously.”

“Sorry if that was heavier than you wanted.”

“No. I asked and, well, I like that about you. That you give a proper answer. Well, that and the fact that you keep bailing me out at the bar.”

Nicole throws her head back and laughs. “I have my uses.”

They settle for a moment, and then Waverly says - “can I ask you a question?”

Nicole checks her watch.

“If I can answer it in ten minutes then you sure can.”

“Why 2009 this time?”

“Oh, that’s easy. And boring. It’s the year I turned eighteen. It feels nostalgic - me and my friends becoming adults, finishing high school and thinking about college. Not having to worry about my parents disapproving of me. It just makes me feel free.”

“I don’t think that’s boring at all,” Waverly counters, and understands that Nicole is waiting for something similar, even if she won’t ask for it. Waverly takes a steadying breath. “Well, it’s not when I turned eighteen -”

“And now she makes me feel old,” Nicole interjects, laughing.

“I’m not _that_ many years behind,” Waverly teases, rolling her eyes. “I was still a teenager and it was a good year. My sister had been, uh, away. We’d been separated for a while, but she came home the year before and we just got to spend a lot of time together. I guess for the purposes of this story I could say she was a bit of a tearaway. She got a job in a bar out of our town and one night she told our aunt she was dropping me at my friend’s place - but she let me come to work with her instead.” Waverly pauses and catches Nicole smiling as she listens.

“Go on,” she urges gently when Waverly looks unsure.

If asked, she would have no idea why she was telling anyone this, let alone a relative stranger - as Nicole had put it.

But she didn’t feel like a stranger - and somehow that made it all the more odd.

“Nothing even remotely crazy happened,” Waverly explains sheepishly. “But I was young and it made me feel cool. I couldn’t wait to show off at school. By the time we drove home I was half-asleep but my sister stopped at our area’s only drive-thru for shakes and fries. It’s just one of my favourite memories. Lots of things have gone to shit since then, but I still can’t hear a noughties indie song without thinking of that bar.”

Nicole chuckles. “Sounds like _exactly_ the kind of place me and my friends would have gone to.”

Waverly feels her own smile fade. “Guess we managed it in ten minutes.”

Nicole glances at her wrist again.

“Three to spare.”

“Time flies,” Waverly says thoughtfully.

“It sure does. And since we do only have a couple of minutes, I’m going to say something kind of weird.”

Nicole bites her lip playfully and Waverly feels her heart speed up.

“But,” Nicole goes on, “I think you should give me a chance anyway.”

Waverly can only hope her nerves are not as obvious as she fears they might be. She makes a show of bracing herself, wondering if humour can carry her through.

“Okay,” she says as evenly as possible. “I’m ready for weirdness.”

“I think you should pick a time and place for next week,” Nicole says, eyes unwavering and expression bold. “And I think you should meet me there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this week, thank you so much for reading! As ever I would be so grateful if you could let me know what you think. As I said, I'm still working on establishing the San Junipero setting atm, trying to lay out what I've kept from the canon episode and what I'm still working with. Please let me know if anything is unclear and I'll make sure I clear it up next chapter. 
> 
> Have a lovely week and take care!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole teaches Waverly that San Junipero really can be fun...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday everyone! At least it’s not Monday eh
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who’s giving this fic a try. I know I’m back on my usual AU bs - even I have no idea why I’m so determined to write these two meeting in every possible way my last two brain cells decide. I’m trying to pepper a few in-canon oneshots into my writing time (I’m desperate to continue my ‘fill in the gaps’ fic because that sort of stuff is so fun to write!) but I’m also fleshing out potential ideas for a short follow up to ‘I’ll Spread My Wings…’ (my AU where Nicole is a security guard and Waverly is a curator) because a few people had mentioned wanting to see what might happen next. I’m still a bit 50/50 on continuing it because I don’t reaaaally know if people would be interested? Lmk either positively or negatively and I’ll try and judge a consensus. 
> 
> No real housekeeping on this chapter, only that I had so, so much fun writing it and listening to a lot of 1999 songs. (I did cheat on the playlist this time - Shania is a year out, but it was too good an opportunity to miss. You’ll see what I mean). I hope that fun feeling comes through and you guys enjoy this update. 
> 
> For anyone who is super familiar with the San Junipero episode of Black Mirror, I have deviated quite a bit from the setting the show laid out. I just felt certain that if this was a pseudo-heaven, there had to be so much more than what we saw. This is just my take on it - I hope no one hates me from deviating from Black Mirror canon! 
> 
> Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/3ukStOrVOr4wekVHyss8po?si=QSK953UGQW6pki9FalgZbA

****Not Saturday. 2016.** **

_There is metal in her pockets, cool and sometimes sharp against her fingers when she comes back to herself._

_She never remembers collecting it. There is only a sense that it must be hidden in the barn with the rest of her stolen booty._

_She cannot explain it to anyone, and she cannot explain it to herself._

_The monster in her blood tells her things, but it never tells her its final plan._

_It takes her whenever it wants, takes her mind and spirit and emotions. It gives her back only when it is bored or tired, and even when it slumbers Waverly knows it listens._

_She could tell Wynonna._

_She_ should _tell Dolls._

_But the demon is listening. It is always listening. So she tells no one._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

A weight presses down on her bed, jolting her out of the only approximation of sleep she has managed since being admitted to hospital.

She dreams sometimes, and it is the only way she can be sure that there is a difference between the two states of waking and slumber now. Even so, that line is a perilously slim one.

“Watch her legs,” Wynonna murmurs to someone unseen, sitting in the chair with another familiar scrape of wood against tile.

“I _will_ ,” a tiny, high voice says imperiously and Waverly feels her heart swell.

 _Alice_.

She had never met her niece in the traditional sense - likely never would, really - and it breaks her heart, but Alice’s visits are also one of the few things that bring her any real sense of joy.  

Knowing that Wynonna has Alice brings Waverly some degree of release. It is an absolution of sorts.

For all Wynonna’s guilt, for all she thinks she owes Waverly the rest of her life, it is good to know that she has someone who depends on her more than Waverly. Someone who actually gives her something in return.

Waverly pictures Alice with raven hair and bright eyes, the very image of Wynonna as a child. It brings her comfort, and so she does not entertain the idea that she might be completely wrong.

From what Waverly understood, Alice had arrived back in Purgatory at the age of four and by now she had all but forgotten that she lived the first portion of her life away from her mother.

By all accounts, Wynonna settles easily into motherhood. It is both surprising and obvious all at once. Wynonna had been an excellent big sister, so Waverly knows better than anyone just how tender she can be.

Wynonna liked her lone wolf image, but wolves were inherently pack animals and fiercely protective of their own.

Alice seems to be a beacon in Waverly’s extended family. She had given them something to fight for, and then she had given them a new cause once the old one was gone.

_If Wynonna had broken the curse and hadn’t had Alice…_

With Waverly as she is, she dreads to think what might have happened to her sister.

Instead, Alice gives Wynonna a reason to smile (even without seeing it, Waverly can tell) and gives the team a reason to keep fighting all the demons left in Purgatory, even now the curse is gone.

Waverly loves Alice with all her soul, had thought it impossible to care so strongly for a life she has barely encountered. But Alice is Wynonna’s and very much _Wynonna_ ; filled with cheek and spirit and a budding sharp tongue.

A tiny hand pats Waverly’s ankle.

“I won’t sit on you Auntie Waverly.”

Wynonna chuckles. “I’m sure she’s very grateful.”

Alice just about misses the sarcasm, but there is a note to her voice that suggests Wynonna might not be able to get away with it much longer before the backchat starts.

“I was just _telling her_ mom.”

Wynonna laughs and Waverly joins in, smiling on the inside at least.

“Well why don’t you tell your aunt something instead of me. Give her all the gossip. She’d like that, she u-”

“She used to work in Shorty’s bar,” Alice concludes, in an _I know, mom_ sort of voice. “But that was before dad owned it.”

She means Doc. This time, it is obvious with context. Sometimes, Waverly does not have a snowball’s chance of understanding who Alice is speaking about.

The little girl has picked up a habit of calling both Doc and Dolls ‘dad’ and sometimes Waverly is unable to follow, but as ever she cannot stop and ask for clarification.

“Well I’m glad you were listening,” Wynonna says, obviously still smiling.

“You tell me all the time.”

Waverly feels her counterpane move, and can only assume Alice is playing with the covers. It is nice.

Waverly relishes any kind of physical contact or movement at this point.

That is part of the joy of having Alice here. The adults all seem to think anything more than words is a disturbance to Waverly. Sometimes, Wynonna or Rosita takes her hand for a while - but that is the sum total of her non-medical physical contact these days. But Alice does not think of things like that. She is still young and so visits to the hospital must be made to feel fun, or at the very least normal.

She is old enough now that small slivers of responsibility feel exciting, so whoever brings her in for visits (typically Wynonna) sometimes leaves the two alone together under the pretence that Alice is to take care of her aunt while the adults pop outside for a moment.

Of course, there is nothing for Alice to do but Waverly remembers being young and feeling important. She knows the sense of privilege Alice must feel, thinking that she is in charge for a scant few moments.

Those are the moments with her niece Waverly likes better than anything else. Free from adult supervision, Alice stretches out along the length of Waverly’s bed, her little body slotted into Waverly’s side. She whispers secrets into Waverly’s ear, all childish things like who _really_ broke the school window or which kid had cheated on the English test.

“So?” Wynonna prompts after a silence falls and Waverly prepares to revel in the little girl’s voice. “Are you going to fill your aunt in?”

“ _Oh_ , right.”

Alice talks of her summer holidays and it is so painfully nostalgic it makes Waverly’s chest ache.

She plays in the same park as Waverly and Wynonna had done, swims in the same municipal pool. She even climbs the same trees. The only differences are the songs she references, or the television shows; things that move with the times faster than a steadfast old spruce tree.

“And it’s my party tomorrow,” she announces, and Waverly realises with a jolt that summer is marching by already. It is Alice’s birthday, the sixth Waverly has missed by now. She has started to lose hope that she will ever see one.

Waverly wants to cry.

More than ever, she wills herself to hold it in.

Crying as it once existed - the kind where you cried with your whole body as much as your eyes - was not possible, but given that her body still worked to a degree then so did her tear ducts.

She had learned the hard way that she could still cry somehow, and that it only upset everyone else if she did.

She has no desire to cause anyone any distress, but lowest on the list was little Alice.

Even with the distance between them, Waverly loves her niece more than she can say. She loves hearing about Alice’s day - about the truly mundane concerns that can only preoccupy a soon to be six year old girl.

She loves it when Wynonna urges Alice to tell her about her birthday cake; about the countless orange balloons (her current favourite colour, as Waverly understands); and about the bounce house the family had somehow managed to procure for her.

Admittedly, the logistics of this interest Waverly but, naturally, they do not interest Alice and so they are glossed over.

Alice is evidently close to bouncing off the walls, and even though she sustains what to Waverly feels like an impressively long visit, it becomes clear when she gets restless.

“I guess we better go get things set up for tomorrow,” Wynonna says mournfully, and Waverly understands that this statement - and the hidden, implied apology - is for her benefit more than Alice’s.

Waverly’s heart hangs heavy as she feels Alice manoeuvre herself back off the bed.

As the two get ready to leave, Wynonna finds a moment to bend to Waverly’s ear and whisper the same thing she does every year at this time:

“I signed a card from you babygirl in my best forged handwriting. I know you’d want me to.”

She passes quickly, not wanting to shatter the illusion for Alice.

Both visitors make their goodbyes and Waverly tracks the two sets of footsteps, a habit she has picked up entirely without intention to do so. Alice’s fast, urgent little footfalls patter to the part of the room Waverly knows is the door.

They come to a sudden halt though and, almost as an afterthought, Alice speaks again.

“I hope you enjoy your vacation tomorrow Auntie Waverly,” the little girl says earnestly on the way out. “Mom says I can’t come with you even though I want to.”  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 1999.  
**Visit 3.0****

For the first time, Waverly unabashedly looks forward to San Junipero.

If perhaps she is slightly nervous at a whole evening with someone who is still mostly a stranger to her, then her nerves are all but eclipsed by a real and pervasive sense of excitement.

Alice’s party is at the back of her mind, and she spends her Saturday afternoon alternating between a fond mental approximation of what chaos might be happening in the backyard of the homestead, and a formless sense of anticipation of what chaos might happen to _her_ later.

 

 

 

 

 

_“I think you should pick a time and place for next week. And I think you should meet me there.”_

_Waverly had both felt and heard the way she had swallowed around a lump in her throat, her stomach whirling with nerves._

_Nicole was familiar and unsettling at the same time._

_The way she looks at Waverly - hot and homey all at once - made it seem as though they should have known each other long before San Junipero._

_But they had not; Waverly was certain of that. There were gaps in her memory towards the end, but she would have remembered meeting someone like Nicole._

_She struggles with her words for a moment, compounded by the fact that they are running out time._

_“I don’t know this place that well,” she had started, unsure. “I don’t know where we could go.”_

_Nicole had just laughed then; laughed in a way that was already warm and familiar to Waverly._

_“Well I’ll show you then. Just pick the time and tell me where your apartment is.”_

_So Waverly had described her street and Nicole had eventually twigged the location. The time ticks on and still Nicole waits patiently._

_“I was thinking earlier how fun it would be to go back even further. I was just a little kid in the nineties so I barely remember it, but still…”_

_“1999 then yeah? Logically, the year we remember best?”_

_“Okay,” Waverly had said, feeling more decisive now. “And you’ll show me somewhere? Somewhere new, I mean?”_

_Nicole had watched her intensely, gauging something (although Waverly could not tell what) by the look on Waverly’s face._

_“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do. 1999. Your place.”_

_They had both sensed it; the seconds draining to nothing._

_“See you next week,” Waverly had said, because it seemed polite._

_Nicole had looked almost sad then. Something in Waverly had felt sad too._

_“See you next week, Waverly.”_

 

 

 

 

 

One of the nurses places that same cold, plasticky device to her temple and this time, when they press a button, Waverly is ready.

 

 

 

 

 

Everything is the same. Or close enough to the same. Granted, the place had a lot more wicker furniture, lino on the kitchen floor, and an unsettling quantity of floral print cushions ( _and_ wallpaper) but the space is otherwise the same and, for all the time she spends there, Waverly is coming to see it as her own.

If she wanted to, she could retreat here for a night. She could come to San Junipero in the year things changed and she could sit on her couch and she could watch television and she could know that this space was hers alone to inhabit.

But tonight, she has plans.

She takes a moment to check her reflection again, still utterly fascinated by the clothes she finds herself in. She has to laugh when she sees her hoop earrings, her short skirt and high socks _à la_ Britney herself. She is too young ever to have worn stuff like this, but she remembers it nonetheless, remembers the way this era clung to the earliest vestiages of her childhood memories.

It feels safe and warm somehow.

In fact, the further back she steps, the more it all felt like a movie set and an elaborate joke. The more she visits, however, the less she cares.

She is having fun, and she is starting to see how much she needs to do so.

Aware that Nicole might have chosen to arrive outside quickly, Waverly heads to the door before thinking that she might want a jacket for later. The nights here were temperate but she was easily cold.

She casts about the apartment and, through the open bedroom door, catches sight of a jean jacket that had not been laid out at the foot of the bed a moment ago.

It is unsettling, but only for a moment. She does not think on it; she just snatches up the jacket and leaves.

Nicole is nowhere to be found when Waverly gets outside, but for a while she is too distracted to worry much about it. She stands in the shade of a city maple, rising up from its designated square of earth between the concrete, and blocking out the bright rays of the evening sun.

The weather has always been warm here so far, just as it is summer at home. She wonders if the seasons change in San Junipero too. She has missed the feel of rain on her face.  

This is the earliest she has made it out of her apartment, and the street is busy with people looking buoyant and carefree as they all arrive. Like any Saturday, they are full of excitement and anticipation but here it is amplified. She watches people greeting each other, anything from kisses to embraces to playful shoving.  

And, given the year, there is so much else to see too. Waverly has to bite her lip against an absurd smile, as memories keep flooding back to her with every slip dress, jelly shoe, and bold act of double stone-washed denim that she sees.

But the longer she stands, the quicker the good feeling fades.

Between one too many jelly bracelets on her wrist, a bright pink, plasticky digital watch tells her the time is ticking to quarter past, then twenty past.

Nicole had not said how far she had to come, but surely she would not want to waste limited time. Surely, too, she would not stand Waverly up - she had been the one to suggest this, after all.

Cars drift smoothly past on their way down the street, all filled with laughing groups of young people heading on to who knew where.

Through the open windows Waverly hears strains of music she remembers vividly; dancing alone in the room she shared with Wynonna, hearing the lyrics slip under Willa’s door.

 _Unpretty_ blares from one nondescript sedan, and _Genie In A Bottle_ is the choice for the next carload of people.

Somewhere further down the road a white 1999 Chevy Corvette - top already down - seems to have favoured a slightly different tone in _Cloud Number Nine_ ; summer-sounding, the kind of song that makes promises of the late evening sunshine and the warm night to follow.

Waverly watches mildly as the car approaches and then understanding clicks -

“Oh you do _not_ have a convertible,” Waverly says, shoulders shaking as she laughs when the car slows and pulls up at the side of the road.

Nicole peers over the top a pair of perfectly nineties beady sunglasses, looking the picture of affected disdain.

“In San Junipero I do,” she points out, faking annoyance. “But if you don’t want a ride I guess I’ll just go?”

She makes as if to pull away and Waverly crosses her arms, both eyebrows raised.

“ _Don’t you dare_.”

“Then stop insulting my poor car and get in.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Waverly heads around the other side of the car, fears of being stood up already long forgotten.

As Waverly reaches for the door handle, Nicole once again makes as if to pull away. The car jerks and springs forward, just out of Waverly’s reach.

In response, she makes a show of tutting and rolling her eyes.

“So _immature_.”

Through the pale blue lenses in her glasses, Waverly can see Nicole’s staunch and steady stare.

“Challenge?”

“Observation,” Waverly counters, finally making it into the passenger seat and belting up.

No longer shaded by the trees, she finds herself under the glare of the sun, squinting through the glass of the windscreen.

“There’s probably spare sunglasses,” Nicole says, pulling smoothly onto the road and adjusting the CD player volume up slightly.

Waverly fumbles blindly in the glove compartment until she finds something that feels promising. Triumphant, she pulls out a pair of glasses and -  

“Tyler Durdens? _Really_?”

This makes Nicole snort. “That’s what you get for laughing at my poor car.”

“Whatever,” Waverly says, trying to pull a pout that traitorously refuses to hold formation. As it threatens to slip into a smile, she delicately slides the glasses on. “I bet I’ll make them look good anyway.”

“I have no doubt,” Nicole says, quirking an eyebrow and chancing a glance across the car to assess Waverly’s appearance.

Waverly studiously ignores her in favour of fiddling with the console, trying to change the song. She has one in mind and as if by magic it begins playing, cutting right through Bryan Adams.

Nicole understands the choice immediately and makes sure to gasp in faux offence.

“Okay, _ouch_.”

“Just proving a point,” Waverly says, feeling smug.  

“Just breaking my heart, more like.”

Nonetheless, they both laugh a minute or so later when Waverly turns up the volume just in time to make her point.

_You’re one of those guys who likes to shine his machine, you make me take off my shoes before you let me get in…_

_...so, you got a car. That don’t impress me much…_

 

 

 

 

 

“Where are we going?” Waverly asks when they have passed through the busy streets, Nicole’s attention fixed firmly on the pedestrians either side of the cars.

All further mention of Shania has been banished (“no more Trump supporters,” Nicole had said as she conjured Len onto the stereo, “just good nineties throwbacks”) but the air between them stays warm, both literally and figuratively.

Their hair whips in the breeze as Nicole picks up speed when they clear the outskirts of the city, but the sun is hotter and stronger than the previous two weeks and Waverly can still ignore her jacket for now.

So, _Steal My Sunshine_ at least feels appropriate.

“It’s a surprise,” Nicole replies eventually, her smile enigmatic.

Feeling playful, Waverly says, “well that’s kind of presumptuous of you. What if I said I didn’t like surprises?”

“Oh, you definitely like surprises - good ones, anyway. I can tell.”

They are still fooling around, but Nicole makes this assertion with such easy confidence that Waverly drops the pretence for a moment.

“How do you know that?” They have barely known each other six hours, but Nicole was already getting a read on her.

Waverly cannot tell if she is disappointed or exhilarated. Is she really that predictable, or does Nicole just see her?

Nicole shifts tone with her. “I’m good at reading people, I guess.”

She sounds thoughtful, sad almost, and Waverly wonders what bad connotations she had inadvertently brought up. She feels mad at herself for ruining the mood.

“I’m sorry - ” she begins, unsure of why she is apologising but aware somehow that she should.

“Don’t be,” Nicole says firmly. “I’m being silly. I’m a cop - was a cop, I guess. I loved my job and I miss it, but that’s not what I’m here to think about. I get to do that every other hour of every other day. So don’t apologise.”

“I can see you as a cop,” Waverly observes quietly, thinking about the way Nicole had strode into her life two weeks ago.

 _She likes to help_ , Waverly decides.

Their conversation on the roof makes greater sense now too.  

“It’s the uniform,” Nicole quips, jovial demeanour back in place and seemingly genuine.

It hadn’t been that, of course, but the comment compels Waverly to picture it. She imagines a few iterations of a cop’s uniform - from khakis and formal shirts to black utility suits - and decides that Nicole would have looked good in any of them.

“You should wear it now,” Waverly says, “instead of those dumb jeans.”

Nicole gives a formless, wordless cry at the insult.

“Do you always get this mean the third time you meet someone?” she asks incredulously. “First my poor car and now this. My jeans are just fine.”

“They’re a travesty.”

“They’re _era appropriate_.”

“Well. You’re right there I guess. But still - how did I know you’d look like some softened down, half-assed version of nineties skater hip?” Waverly asks, laughing at Nicole’s loose-fitting, straight-leg jeans and thick fabric hip belt. Below the steering wheel Waverly can see enormous, ripped cutouts at her knees. “I bet you have white Nikes on too, right?”

Nicole sends her another disdainful look. “White sneakers made a wonderful resurgence back at home. Besides, this is fine fighting talk from an extra out of the _Baby One More Time_ music video.”

Waverly preens slightly, smoothing what little of her skirt is there to press down. She flashes a look at Nicole’s oversized plaid shirt. It is tied at her waist, most of it hidden between her body and the car seat, but it is still obvious in its ostentatious size.

“When you somehow find a decade where you don’t wear plaid, then I’ll take your fashion advice. I don’t know how you can possibly infer my Britney look is a bad thing.”

“Oh it’s not a bad thing. Trust me, I have a _lot_ to thank Britney Spears for.”

Amused, Waverly pulls a knowing face. “I’m sure you do.”

“Besides, plaid is timeless,” Nicole points out, before wriggling her shoulders. “But these spaghetti straps on the other hand? They’re literally giving me the worst kinds of flashbacks. Some things were right to stay in the nineties.”

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole does not answer the original question about their destination, and for a while Waverly lets it slide. There is so much to distract her.

San Junipero is already a nice city, but leaving the streets only illustrates further that the place is _beautiful_.

They hit the highway and Nicole takes a right turn, driving them roughly northwards, if Waverly’s knowledge of compass points still works.

The sun sits on her left, warming one side of her face and it is such a delight to feel the sunlight like this that Waverly does not even worry that she might burn. It won’t come out before the evening is over, and after that there is nothing to worry about.

The roads are mostly empty - a prerequisite of heaven is surely no gridlock - with just enough cars to skirt believability. In front of them, the road stretches out and inclines slightly, obscuring any view of where they might be heading. Instead, Waverly risks a crick in her neck to stare at the landscape behind them. The ever-diminishing outline of the city is flanked on one side by the deep green of a growth of trees. It looks out of place so close to the city; more like the mountains and woods Waverly is used to from home.

The forest - it is almost dense enough to be called that - swaddles one edge of the city; a carefully-considered oasis of calm for those who did not deem the Saturday night bustle to be remotely heavenly.

She notes that the trees end in a hard, well-defined line where they meet the peachy-pink hue of the sunset sky. She feels something in her stomach twist at the thought that this is a cliff - perhaps dropping off into the wide abyss of the ocean.

Nicole watches Waverly taking it in, clearly enjoying her reaction.

“It’s nice, right? I mean totally improbable really - but nice.”

“It’s beautiful,” Waverly agrees, eyes still fixed on the scenery as it is gradually swallowed up.

“You like that kind of stuff?” Nicole asks, her voice measured and careful. “Nature, hiking and so on?”

“I’m not super outdoorsy,” Waverly replies slowly - Nicole’s caution spreading through to her too. This is not the real world; you are careful what you ask, and what you share. “I live near the mountains so you don’t get to be totally nature-shy. It looks peaceful though. I’d like to see it for an evening, although it would be nicer in the daytime.”

“I took a hike up there on my first night,” Nicole admits. “I just didn’t feel like hitting a bar and I used to be big into camping and climbing when I was more able to do that kind of stuff. So going to the woods felt more heavenly. I stayed until it got too dark to be safe. I know nothing could happen really, but old habits die hard. Harder than most things, I guess.”

Waverly nods and finally faces forward again, wondering whether she should pick up on the thread Nicole had dropped. The way she had talked about dying was just bitter enough to be noticeable. Thus far, they have studiously avoided all talk of sickness and hospitals, and they have especially avoided talk of death. Nicole does not elucidate, so Waverly decides to let it drop - they are already sharing the kind of background information the leaflets and disclaimers warn you not to divulge. Instead she says,

“It’s overwhelming because it’s real, but also not. You’re all alone in this big city and you’re supposed to have fun.”

“I didn’t really get to know a ton of people,” Nicole says, trading candour back and forth. “It never really felt easy, because everyone is desperately reaching for something. Trying to live a week in 5 hours.”

“That’s it,” Waverly agrees, glad Nicole has put it into words. “You spend your life at home connecting with strangers who might eventually become more - but it doesn’t feel weird like it does here. I’m grateful really because if you hadn’t stepped in these past weeks and been kind to me, I’m not sure I’d even leave my apartment now. But I’m starting to enjoy it here, I think.”

“You can tell,” Nicole says lightly, glancing at Waverly. “That you’re happier here. It’s nice.”

“Well it’s because you helped me phase in. So thank you.”

Nicole shakes her head in dismissal. “You don’t have to thank me, I didn’t do anything. Like I said, it was never easy connecting before.”

The implication lies heavy between them and Waverly finds herself agreeing with Nicole’s unspoken assertion. It had been easy between them so far. Nicole was nice, she was fun, and talking to her was simple.

“Well I spent the whole week looking forward to tonight, so that says a lot.”

Nicole beams, and it is infectious. Waverly grins back.

“I looked forward to it too. I hope you like what I planned - it’s hard to be a hundred percent sure but -” she finishes with a shrug.

“Really? I thought you were like, super good at reading people?”

“Hey! That’s a serious misquote,” Nicole retorts, and her angry tone would almost be convincing, but she is still smiling far too much for it to carry. “Give a girl a break, will you? I’m starting to get a complex. I’m trying to cover my bases here in case tonight bombs.”

Waverly does her best to keep a straight face. “Fair, I am very discerning. How’s your ability for damage control?”

Nicole pulls a face. “Clearly not as strong as your mean streak. Maybe we should call the whole thing off.”

“Nope. I won’t allow it.”

“You seem very confident about that when I’m the one driving and directing us tonight.”

“Yeah, well you seem like the kind of girl who wouldn’t stand a lady up. ”

“A _lady_?”

“Don’t laugh, it’s a perfectly reasonable statement.”

“Debatable, but you were right about the other thing: I don’t stand girls up. Plus I like a challenge, _obviously._ ” Nicole narrows her eyes pointedly and Waverly gives an exaggerated, innocent smile in response. “Plus I’m onto a winner here, so I’m not too worried.”

Waverly cannot help it when her curiosity piques. It is her downfall, always.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you shouldn’t have made it so easy for me last week. We’re going to the pier.”

“To the ocean?” Waverly confirms, feeling excitement settle in her palms.

“I told you I’d take you, didn’t I?”

 

 

 

 

 

They drive for a little while longer after Nicole’s announcement, Waverly practically shining with excitement as their conversation peters out and they sing along to their music instead.

Then, as Cher fades out, Nicole turns to Waverly.

“We could get closer but it seems kind of a letdown if your first glimpse is a tiny speck of blue out of your window. There’s an old lot just after the next exit where I want to park up, okay?”

Waverly considers it, ceding control to Nicole.

“I’m just excited to see it,” she adds and Nicole smiles.

As is the way of things here, they find the parking lot in question half empty but not deserted; convenient but not creepy. They have arrived in a quiet, sparsely built up area and Nicole leaves the car with the top down, aware that they probably won’t need it again tonight.

The evening is still light and erring on the side of warm, but the blue has drained from the sky and even the proceeding pinks and oranges were starting to fade.

There are lights springing up in the near distance, and Waverly does her best to make sense of the settlement up ahead in the half-light. The city of San Junipero had thinned out a while ago, but signs of life - in the loosest sense of the word - had seemingly sprung up again about thirty miles out. Waverly strains her eyes to see it.

“Apparently party towns also need holiday villages and pleasure beaches,” Nicole says as she leads the way down a small road, and the view is momentarily obscured by a small set of buildings, not dissimilar in appearance to Waverly’s apartment complex.

The walk is short, but the apartments keep Waverly from seeing much of anything until the little village is almost upon them.

They make as if to round a corner, but Nicole hesitates with an urgent command to wait.

“What is it?” Waverly asks, mildly startled. When Nicole speaks again, however, her voice is soft and measured.

“This is a big moment. It kind of needs a fanfare.”

Completely unexpectedly, she comes up behind Waverly and, before Waverly can ask any questions, she gently latches her hands over Waverly’s eyes. Her skin is soft and warm, and her fingers block out everything perfectly.

Things go black but for the first time in a long time, it isn’t the worst thing in the world. Waverly can still stand, can still move, can still reclaim her autonomy at any time. It does not feel stifling to have Nicole so close, because somehow she knows that all she would ever need do is ask for this to stop and Nicole would step away.

In actual fact, the contact between them feels wonderful. Waverly has longed for something like this for years. For some simple and directionless touch, for something more than someone holding her hand or administering treatment.

Her body sings the way it did when Nicole slung her arm around Waverly’s shoulders. This is more than medicine or comfort, it is pure and simple contact and Waverly has missed it more than she had ever realised. It feels so unspeakably _normal_ to have Nicole’s body close to her, hovering near her back but not quite touching.

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly, voice just above Waverly’s ear. The change of tone feels a little like whiplash, but all of this is completely crazy and completely okay too, so Waverly nods.

“Just don’t play some mean prank on me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Nicole murmurs, voice still hushed and deeply reassuring.

“Show me where to go,” Waverly instructs, feeling anticipation pool in her stomach. Once again, the smell of vanilla envelops her.

“I’ll guide you, don’t worry.”

They walk for a short while, Waverly letting Nicole direct her. They do not have far to go, but their pace is halting and unsure.  

With Nicole’s fingers over her eyes, Waverly hears it before she sees it. The steady thrum of the waves, heaving and breaking softly on the shoreline. It sounds calm, and Waverly can picture it. The saltwater smell she had noticed on day one is all-consuming now that she is finally nearing the water's edge.

“Ready?” Nicole asks, bringing them to a halt.

Waverly takes a breath. “I’m ready.”

Nicole removes her hands and Waverly finds herself at the edge of a thin strip of pale sand, looking out at a beach at high tide. The water is so pale and clean in the dying light as to look almost pastel blue, and Waverly feels her mouth drop as she fixes her eyes on it.

In truth, for all she had longed to see the ocean, she had no idea what she might feel when it happened.

But in front of it now, she forgets that it is not technically the real seaside. She forgets everything except the sight of the swelling mass of turquoise-blue, rolling back and forth in never-ending billows. Immediately, she feels soothed and she also feels struck with the irrepressible desire to wade into the waters.

“Well?” Nicole asks after giving Waverly a moment.

“It feels peaceful,” Waverly says eventually. “It’s beautiful.”

“Everything you imagined?”

“ _More_.”

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole seems content to let Waverly take her time.

Without hesitation, Waverly strips off her shoes and socks, eager to feel the sand beneath her toes. It is still warm from the sun, and it shifts beautifully beneath her feet.

Waverly moves nonsensically in the sand for a moment, happy to do a strange little dance just to appreciate the sensation of the sand. She laughs as she does so; she simply cannot help it.  

She turns back to Nicole, who is smiling unabashedly at the sight of Waverly enjoying herself.

“Well?” Waverly asks, “what are we doing now?”

“Whatever you want to do,” Nicole says, still smiling. “We can stay here, or we can go there.”

Waverly follows Nicole’s eyes and whirls around to check out a spot behind her. It is a part of the beach she has not even tried to investigate yet, and her mouth drops open when she sees it.

There is a wide, bustling wooden pier just in the distance, covered in the biggest stereotype Waverly has ever seen; a funfair, complete with small ferris wheel, helter-skelter, little wooden food stalls, and what appears to be an arcade.

“Oh, my, God,” she says, struggling against the urge to jump around at the sight of it. “I can’t believe I didn’t know this place existed.”

Nicole, caught up in Waverly’s joy, laughs loudly.

“It’s cheesy right?”

“ _So_ cheesy. And amazing, holy shit.”

So they walk the length of the beach, following the line of the water as it creeps higher up the sand. Nicole takes her shoes and socks off too, eventually letting Waverly coax her into the water. She rolls her pants up to the knee - making an offhand comment about fortuitous nineties baggy jeans - but Waverly can go deeper, thanks to the non-existent miniskirts of the era.

She almost wants to swim, but she can feel the water chilling her toes and decides that there will be time for that later.

Instead, they explore the pier and dip into the arcade once the temperature drops. It is the very picture of the childhood arcades Waverly remembers from the sole Earp family trip to the city.

Nicole gets them coupons and two bottles of coke to sip.  

They wander aimlessly and waste their coupons fooling about on the games machines. Nicole tries out _Star Wars_ and _Mortal Kombat_ and _The Simpsons,_ while Waverly heads for a solo dance machine and lets herself sink to into the unadulterated joy of erratic movement; the kind she has been denied for far too long.

After a while, Nicole drifts over to watch and wait, until Waverly feels she has worked enough restlessness out of her system. It is then her turn to observe, bemused, as Nicole demonstrates a similar useless proficiency in Arcade games.

A rickety-looking claw crane drops a pastel-pink stuffed unicorn into the prize basket and Waverly can only shake her head.

“I didn’t think you’d actually manage it when I picked it,” Waverly says as Nicole bends down to collect the cheap toy. “I thought they rigged all these things.”

“I’m pretty sure they do,” Nicole replies, handing the unicorn over. “But there’s a knack to it. So I'll only be slightly offended if you don't add it to your apartment going forward.”

 

 

 

 

 

Time is against them, as it alway is, but if San Junipero teaches them anything, it is how to make the most of every second.

Pink unicorn in tow, Waverly and Nicole just about try everything; the arcade, the helter skelter, and Nicole braves a hot dog.

Lastly, she picks out a stick of cotton candy for them to share.

They end the night on the ferris wheel; buoyant, giggly, and hopped up on sugar. In the distance, the city twinkles back at them like stardust, and - with Nicole squashed beside her - Waverly feels herself falling in love with the place.

She decides that she could get used to weekends like this -  particularly if Nicole was here too.

When they are forced to leave, Waverly mentions how she wishes she could return the favour Nicole has given her by arranging such a trip. It has been such a long time since she has had a real friendship like this.

“But I don’t know nearly enough about San Junipero,” she laments. “We wouldn’t have half as much fun.”

“Tell me what you would suggest,” Nicole counters, “if you didn’t have to worry about whether it was possible.”

Waverly wracks her brains for a second, looking out from atop the ferris wheel instead of meeting Nicole's eye. “The weather’s nice, and you said you like being outdoors. So I guess I’d want to take a picnic to a park or something. We could enjoy the evening sunshine.”

“So? Let’s just do that.”

Waverly eyes Nicole carefully. “You’d want to? Don’t spare my feelings if I made a bad plan.”

“It sounds like a perfect Saturday and San Junipero has an equally perfect park - big surprise. It’s near enough to your place, I can pick you up again. On foot, this time.”

“R.I.P. Chevy Corvette.”

“For _now_ ,” Nicole warns, eyes glinting. “It could make a comeback tour.”

“Please don’t do that to me.”

“It’s a fun car. Don’t deny it.”

“Fine,” Waverly concedes. “It had the desired effect.”

“Thank you,” Nicole says, satisfied, before asking, “and are we gonna continue heading back in time, car-free, next week?”

Waverly considers it for a moment, chewing at her cheek. The past is fun, and Waverly has enjoyed it more than she can say, but it still feels like a movie set. And movie sets were perfect for a night like tonight - but she is starting to want other things out of San Junipero too.

“I want it to feel real. And the past feels kind of camp and gimmicky and fun. And slightly _un_ real. Does that make sense?”

“It does. Very, very much. That’s why people like it here so much. But I think it would be fun to try out something a little closer to home. 2023 then, yeah?”

Waverly’s stomach swoops as she realises the obvious problem. She is still imagining a present day that is years gone, because she has not engaged with the world for a long time. She had been craving something like home, and so had Nicole. But _home_ was in different times and places for them.

If she admits that, however, it would raise questions. Admittedly, Nicole probably would not ask them but the idea of it still shakes Waverly up.

She does not want Nicole to know about her present, out of some weird and noxious mix of shame and self-preservation. But if she agrees to the plan and they come to San Junipero, it will not even be a present she recognises.

“No?” Nicole asks, misreading Waverly’s silence. “We don’t have to meet u- I mean, any time you want out - ”

“I mean, things have kind of gone to shit for me recently,” Waverly says quickly and Nicole’s face falls. “I mean - _crap_ \- not right now. Like here and now is wonderful. I mean ‘recently’ as in - back at home. Can we do almost-present? Back when the present was fun?”

“So for me it’s like, six maybe seven years ago. 2016, 2017 - that kind of time,” Nicole suggests after a pause. “Before it all started.”

Her words hit Waverly between the ribs.

“That was pretty much when it started for me as well.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicole says, and it is clear she means it.

“I’m sorry too.”

“Thanks. Although, at least it makes our plans easier to manage.”

_Our plans._

Waverly likes the way that sounds.

More than anything, she likes the way Nicole has given her something to look forward to again.

She likes the way that life is suddenly starting to open up.

They close their time in San Junipero atop the ferris wheel - like this is all some kind of fairytale. 

 _Perhaps,_ Waverly reasons _, that is exactly what it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever for reading. Comments really do make me smile, so if you have a moment please drop me a review!! 
> 
> As ever, my twitter stan is @rositabustiiios and my mostly dormant tumblr is birositabustillos because I don’t like Rosita at aaaall. My writing twitter is @alissawrites. 
> 
> My ko-fi is also alissawrites (ko-fi.com/alissawrites) and I would really appreciate a share on social media just to circulate my writing accounts around a bit more. Although I am saving up for a few things related to my og writing (courses, uni, books to research certain topics, and a bit of travel just to actually occupy certain spaces/settings) alongside covering medical stuff and trying to get to a few cons to support Wynonna Earp, I mainly just want to get more into the habit of using the internet for my writing accounts. That being said, if you are the wonderfully kind person who sent me a coffee for about 6 (!!!) fanfics read, you are wonderful and you truly made my day with your kind gesture! 
> 
> Have a lovely week, I’ll be back like a bad penny next Tuesday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Waverly's turn to reciprocate for Nicole with a night in the city. Slowly, steadily, something might just be growing between them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand I am back like a bad penny with another update! 
> 
> Thanks again if you're reading/reviewing this fic. I've still got my own writer's issues/reservations/lack of confidence with it, but your comments really help make me feel a lot better. 
> 
> This is another chapter I had a lot of fun with. In fact, any one of the San Junipero adventures between them is good fun to write - the universe just kind of gives so much scope to put them in different scenarios. I really hope the fun side does come out in these chapters. Let me know what you think!
> 
> I'm pretty sure I have no disclaimers this chapter. Here is the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/6JwH80YrfusPEcoLkG3kpg?si=deXk3FeeQWW6R0svoc2kMQ
> 
> And with that I'll shut up!!

****Saturday. 2017.  
**Visit 4.0**** **

 

If there is one thing that does not change in heaven, it is the fact that Waverly is no fine cook.

She can do the basics if she absolutely has to, but the beauty of the afterlife is apparently that she does not have to at all. Not, of course, that she learns this right away.

For the very first time she explores her kitchen, prowling round and opening drawers at random. There is enough cutlery and crockery to supply a small family, all of it mismatching and of varied design - just as it had been at the homestead.

Perhaps the Earps had owned a full dining set once, but it had been a long time since anyone had found two identical mugs or a tablespoon that was quite identical in design to a knife or fork.

It is just the same for Waverly in San Junipero.

The cutlery drawer slides open with a clatter, revealing four segments each containing a small pocket of chaos, divided by implement type. There are several spoons of varying depth in one segment, the forks all have different coloured plastic handles, and none of the knives seem to be quite the same length.

It is a stupid thing to fixate upon, but it makes Waverly’s chest ache.

The morning mayhem of the homestead kitchen in the time before mama left was still a fond memory. Perhaps the weekday rush for school and kindergarten had not felt enjoyable at the time, but it was the kind of perfect, frenzied family memory that sat in Waverly’s heart with a rose-hued sense of nostalgia.

But that evening all is quiet in her own, private kitchen in San Junipero.

Trying her best not to remember how the homestead used to be a mess of plates on the draining board, and how it used to be a battle to find a clean glass, she rifles through her own cupboards.

A picnic - one she is to take charge of - requires food. She had not really considered the logistics of it beforehand.

She does, at least, find the kitchen well stocked. There is a whole loaf of crusty, homemade-looking bread in a metal bread bin on the counter, and the fridge is full of potential sandwich ingredients. There is fruit in a wire container on another countertop, and even a bottle of wine waiting on the little wooden dining table.

It won’t be a gourmet dinner, but she can make something to share.

It is only as she is slicing into the loaf of bread with a lethal-looking bread knife that she realises that she has no real idea of what Nicole might like to eat.

There are so many gaps between them still, but it feels more exciting than disheartening. They are relative strangers in the good sense, because they are filling in the blanks with increasing rapidity.  

Waverly thinks over it as she starts pulling food pell-mell out of the fridge. She lines up various cheeses, meats, vegetables, and a cheat’s bag of salad leaves behind which she also finds a tub of what appears to be dairy-free spread.

Avocado oil - how 2017.

(In fairness, the choice to make a picnic in the almost-present only benefits her - she dreads to think what vegan food would have been available a few decades back).

As she works, she thinks.

It is so easy now to simply fill the quiet times with persistent reflection. It is what she does day-in, day-out back at home in her bed, and apparently even the worst of caterers can prepare sandwiches on muscle memory alone because her mind drifts immediately now too.

The memory of her previous visit to San Junipero has sustained her all week.

She’d had fun. So much fun.

And really - when was the last time she could say that?

She had spent the days leading up to her third visit half-excited and half-unsure. She had, at that point, felt as though she had latched onto the nearest source of kindness and utterly imposed herself on Nicole.

In truth, Waverly had worried that maybe Nicole was just too kind to tell her to get lost.

Everyone in San Junipero had their own problems back at home, and to some degree everyone was running away from them. Whether they treated San Junipero as a fun mini-break or as pure, unbridled escapism, people only had a limited time here to be free of whatever binds shackled them in another reality.

Waverly had been a total rookie looking for some guidance, and she had wondered if perhaps Nicole just couldn’t say ‘no’.

Indeed, she had been flirting that first night and Waverly had wondered if things would end once Nicole knew that Waverly was not a lesbian and would not reciprocate. But it had never seemed like Nicole’s kindness had been fixed around a hidden agenda. Her kindness simply _was._

Waverly could not give her anything like that in return - she had always dated or looked to date men, for one - but Nicole’s thoughtfulness had seemed to be without condition. (Except, apparently, the continuation of some low-level flirtation. Waverly could hardly say she minded it - they both knew the score, surely?)

All the same, Waverly had not wanted to be an unwelcome guest, intruding on another person’s ‘me time’.

But then Nicole had pulled up in that dumb car last week, and she had laughed at Waverly’s sunglasses, and a warmth had settled over Waverly’s skin that had nothing to do with summer sunshine.

Waverly had never felt less like an intrusion in her life.

Rather, she felt wanted, and it was rare and beautiful.

Nicole had implied that things felt easy between them, and Waverly felt similarly.

She had not had much opportunity to make deep connections in her adult life and so she does not have much to compare this to, but still it feels special.

They get on seamlessly, they make each other laugh and Waverly sometimes cannot help but wonder if it was all part of the code, finding a ‘someone’ that easily here.

Nicole had implied otherwise by saying that she had not made all that many friends prior to their meeting, so Waverly can only assume that this is all her own good fortune.

She had always been independent to a degree - she had not been given a lot of choice in the matter - but after losing so many people so young, Waverly unabashedly craved company and connection. It made being frozen in time all the harder. So, in truth, one of her first thoughts about San Junipero had been having no one to share her experiences with.  

But if she could come here every week and develop such a friendship, then maybe she would be happy in San Junipero after all.

Not to mention that there was also something flattering in receiving Nicole’s attention. She is pretty and confident and bold, and that first night Waverly had been meek and out of sorts - completely unlike her true self. The fact that Nicole had seen through it, had wanted to get to know her, meant a lot to Waverly.

Because even after only three encounters Waverly keeps expecting it to end. And every time, Nicole keeps coming back for more. It makes Waverly feel like a school child again, joining a new class and wondering if that cool kid _really_ wants to be your friend.

After last week, after Nicole making good on her promise about the ocean, Waverly wants to put in the effort for tonight’s picnic.

And, with a fairly limitless stock of ingredients, sandwich preparation goes fairly smoothly, except for one fraught moment when a buzzing starts up from Waverly’s pocket and she nearly slices her finger off as she tries to cut through a block of cheese.

She had found herself in a comfortable, chunky cardigan upon arrival and had felt no express desire to search her own pockets. She had not felt the weight of something on her person through the heavy wool, but they had chosen the 2010s so of course there would be cell phones.

She collects herself enough to fish out a familiar-looking iPhone as it rings, flashing up a number without any caller ID.

Still, it can surely only be one person.

“Hello how did you come by this number?” she says briskly, trying to tamp down a playful smile.

“I’ve rung at least thirty other people so far - finally got lucky,” Nicole jokes back. “Although in seriousness I do think whoever writes the code for this should rethink the policy of being able to access someone’s number through sheer will alone.”

“Ugh, creepy. Stalker exes come to mind.”

Waverly is joking, of course, but Nicole’s response is somewhat serious. “Or just plain stalkers.”

“Ever the cop.”

“Aw, you _remembered_ ,” Nicole jokes, “I’m so flattered.”

“Did you call for something other than sarcasm?”

Nicole takes great pains to sound hurt. “Sarcasm? I would _never_. Actually, I’m outside and want to know when I’m getting my dinner.”

“I can’t believe you’re inviting yourself round.”

“I can’t believe you’re _not_ inviting me round and just leaving me to stand around outside all alone.”

Smiling to herself and shaking her head, Waverly wipes her hand on a tea towel and moves towards her front door. “You big baby I waited for you last week.”

“I had to drive all the way over, you only have to walk down the stairs.”

“You say ‘only’ like I am not currently devising the best picnic of all time,” Waverly counters. “Although, disclaimer: do not get your expectations up _that_ high.” She fiddles with a few buttons by the door, next to a fairly rudimentary-looking intercom. “Did that work?”

She hears a door creak open down the line, as well as the echo of Nicole stepping into the airy atrium.

“Seems to. Direct me from here.”

“Fourth floor, number uh - ” Waverly pauses and opens the door to check it. She has never needed to pay it any attention before. “Number six.”

She goes back to the kitchen but leaves the door ajar for Nicole, propped open with a couple of books she pilfers from the shelf in the living room.

Nicole has the courtesy to knock lightly and announce herself before stepping inside and shutting the door. She pauses out of sight for a moment before calling out,

“Holy shit this is place is so you.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Waverly calls back.

“ _Obviously_. But it’s still entertaining.”

“The bedroom on your right,” Waverly shouts, “the door’s open. Check the bed.”

After a split second, she hears Nicole laugh to herself, the sound extending until Nicole finds her way to the kitchen.

“You kept the unicorn.”

“Of course I kept the unicorn.”

Waverly watches as Nicole takes in the sight of all the food.

“You’re also actually making a picnic. That’s so sweet.” She is teasing again, but Waverly cannot understand why.

“What else would I do?”

This makes Nicole laugh again. “You’re in a place where you change outfits or conjure up songs through the sheer power of will. Why didn’t you just try it with the food, too?”

Waverly feels a faint sense of embarrassment settle in her chest. “But all the food at the fair - the drinks at the bar. People prepare it, don’t they?”

“Sure, if they want to for the illusion. Lots of people find solace in doing old jobs or chores here. But you don’t actually _have_ to.” Perhaps sensing Waverly’s embarrassment, Nicole steps up to a kitchen counter. “This seems nice though. It seems normal. And I appreciate the effort. Let’s finish up together.”

So Nicole helps Waverly to prepare an unreasonable amount of food; there are far too many sandwiches and there is shaping up to be more than enough fruit salad to feed an army.

Nicole switches on the radio and they chatter or sing as they work, falling into an easy rhythm.

“So,” Nicole says after a moment, “how was your week?”

She pitches her voice just so, enough over the top intonation to let Waverly know that she is joking. Nicole is parodying ‘normal’ and it makes Waverly feel almost unspeakably at ease.

Normal friends would catch up like this. Normal friends wouldn’t be afraid to ask. Normal friends wouldn’t have a handbook warning against divulging too much personal information to others in San Junipero.

“It, was, _hectic_ ,” Waverly says immediately, enunciating each word and finding that she picks up the joke easily. “I absolutely packed my schedule out from Monday to Friday. It was just meetings, meetings, meetings and you know what? I _need_ tonight to unwind. More than that, I deserve it.”

“Oh I hear that. I was pulling double shifts left, right, and centre the past few days. It’s like - give a girl a break, you know?”

“The modern world just moves so _fast_ \- ”

“ - don’t I know it - “

“ - and it’s like, what’s the point, really?” Waverly gives her best put-upon sigh.

In response, Nicole clicks her tongue. “Did Bill use the same powerpoint template for his presentation again?”

Struggling against a smile, Waverly feigns outrage.

“He _did_. The gall of it I swear. And I bet Steve made you switch shifts with him again.”

“Ugh. When _doesn’t_ he? The man’s an idiot and a slacker.”

They about lose the thread of the joke then, both of them laughing a little too much to continue. It is so easy, this way, to talk without talking. Waverly still does not know why Nicole is on the San Junipero program, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little curious.

She tries to self-regulate, to assess whether this is a kind of morbid curiosity or whether she is trying to paint a better picture of the woman standing with her in this unfamiliar-but-familiar kitchen.

Deep down, she believes it to be the latter - and not just because she _wants_ to believe such a thing. She wants to understand more about Nicole, and a part of that is what has brought her here so young. They have not discussed precise ages - they have barely skirted the topic  - but Nicole had said enough that Waverly could do the math if she wanted to. But, right now, it is enough to know they are generationally linked - anything more felt too intrusive.

But if Waverly has given this much thought over the past week (and she has) then the one thing she has concluded is that if she were to tell Nicole the reality of why she is in San Junipero, Nicole would learn very little of the real Waverly from such a confession.

The real Waverly is here and now, in 2017. She has never truly left it, not in either reality.

So even if she could ask Nicole, Waverly wouldn’t. Not right now, at any rate.

Still, it is enough to share snippets of the truth through sarcasm, because the implication that neither of them gets out and does much is heavy between them as they poke fun at a rat race from which they are so far removed. Plus, it is nice to make a joke of it. Waverly had never thought she could do such a thing, but with the right humour and the right person to share it with, it would seem that anything is possible.

When they are not distracted and laughing, they finish the sandwiches up quickly and Waverly throws some fruit together for a dessert. Nicole ‘finds’ some chips in a cupboard and draws the line at preparing what she terms ‘proper’ dessert.

“I do miss baking, though,” Waverly observes as Nicole packs a recently materialised tray of brownies into a tupperware. “It’s the only kind of cooking I was ever good at.”

“We should do it one day when the weather turns cold,” Nicole suggests, before catching herself. “Or I mean - you should. I wouldn’t have to be here for you to bake, obviously.”

“Where else would you go?” Waverly asks, lacing the sarcasm through each word.

“I was trying not to make assumptions, you dick.”

“Next you’re going to tell me you have plans for the whole of winter.”

Nicole makes a show of angrily shunting their used utensils into the sink. “I can’t believe you’re such an asshole the longer you’re with someone.”

“It’s only going to get worse from here.”

“ _Not_ a selling point Waverly.”

“So are you gonna abandon me soon?”

“Never,” Nicole says, smiling. “One of us has to be the nice one after all.”

 

 

 

 

 

The rush to get outside and make the most of the evening does not feel so acute with Nicole’s company at the apartment.

Still, they make it to the park by eight o’clock and find the perfect space at the edge of the dappled shade cast by a tall, leafy oak.

Waverly unpacks a set of canvas totes, which had helpfully presented themselves when they were looking for a way to transport the food. Nicole had brought a small, patchwork blanket which she lays out for them, although it is mostly for show.

Neither minds sitting on the grass, but using a little crocheted blanket has a better charm to it.

They waste no time in tucking into their food, and Nicole uses this to find out something more about Waverly.

“I come from somewhere quite small,” Waverly says as she eats, “so going vegan was actually super inconvenient but worth it. I had a friend back at home who’s the same, so we worked things out together.”

A little pang of guilt flashes through her, thinking of Jeremy and wondering if he frequents their old haunts alone now, or if he is the sole one to make special requests at restaurant. It is hardly a huge upset on paper, but the running joke and experimental restaurant meals had been a thing they shared together. Sometimes, the little things hurt more.

If Nicole notes Waverly’s selective use of the present tense, she does not mention it. Instead, she looks guiltily at the end of a ham, tomato, and cheese concoction.

“You didn’t have to make stuff especially for me,” she says, sounding appreciative. “Especially as you probably think kind of poorly of people who don’t make much of an effort.”

“Not really,” Waverly says, shrugging. “In an ideal world _obviously_ \- you know…”

“Everyone would do it?”

“Not everyone all of the time. People with a viable option who could, like you say, make an effort. But I’m not the food police. Even if your gross ham sandwich is gross in an objective sense.”

Nicole just shrugs and makes a point of stuffing the slightly large remnant of the offending sandwich into her mouth.

Waverly pretends to be unimpressed and says, “I told you last week that you were immature.”

“And I asked you if it was a challenge,” Nicole points out once she has chewed and swallowed.

“It isn’t a challenge Nicole. It wasn’t then, it still isn’t.”

Nicole just flashes a playful half-smile that somehow manages to hit Waverly square in the stomach.

“That remains to be seen.”

 

 

 

 

 

(“I’m sorry, by the way, if I’ve ever asked a little much. I’m not angling it’s just habit, y’know - “

“No, it’s fine Nicole. I’m glad you did. It feels, I don’t know - ”

“Normal,” Nicole fills in, looking relieved.

“I know they say we shouldn’t - ”

“It’s meant to be for our safety. And, I think, our mental health,” Nicole explains, “and to an extent I actually agree with it but…”

She shrugs but she does not say more than that. Waverly takes a gulp of the wine she had snagged from her kitchen. It is peachy and fizzy and rather weak but it hits the right spots all the same.

“I want to get to know you,” Waverly says earnestly, watching as something strange flickers over Nicole’s face. She means it more than ever in that instant, realising how much she craves human connection only as she confesses it to Nicole.

“I want to get to know you too Waverly,” Nicole replies, her voice soft and impossibly intense.)

 

 

 

 

 

They eat and they talk and it is still so easy.

There are no consequences to eating as much food as they can physically manage, then stretching out on their backs to stare at the clouds as they amble slowly across the sky.

San Junipero is not the place for the mundane or the minutiae; indigestion or bloating are distant memories.

They lay side-by-side, arms occasionally grazing if they move slightly on the blanket.

“That one’s a dog,” Nicole says quietly, tracing the edges of a large cloud with her finger.

“Where do you get dog from?” Waverly asks, tilting her head as best she can.

“There,” Nicole says, drawing an outline, “that’s the nose. And those are the ears.”

Waverly wrinkles her own nose as she concentrates, but she cannot follow the line Nicole traces.

“Nope, I don’t see it. It looks kind of like a janky old cupcake to me - one with the frosting all falling off.”

Chuckling, Nicole drops her outstretched arm back to the blanket. It is the one nearest to Waverly, and she barely needs to search for a second before taking Waverly’s hand in her own and threading their fingers, so that they can trace the cloud together.

She describes each part softly as she goes.

“Head.”

A scribble of their conjoined hands. “Nose.”

Another movement between them. “Ears.”

“Body,” she murmurs as she draws a long, vague line which might be a dog sat on its haunches. She follows it with one long, thin shape.

“Tail.”

Once she is done, she holds Waverly’s hand a moment longer before slowly letting it go. They both drop their arms back down into the space between them on the blanket. The sides of their hands touch and Waverly does nothing to pull away. She is still touch-starved and happy that Nicole seems comfortable with the contact between them.

 _Perhaps_ , Waverly reasons _, she feels touch-starved too_.

Oblivious to (or perhaps unperturbed by) the contact between them, Nicole asks,

“Still see your freaky cupcake?”

Waverly nudges her gently with her shoulder.

“Sort of,” she says, although it is mostly a lie. “But I got your weird, post-impressionist dog picture eventually, Picasso.”

“Just because I have imagination and artistic flair. Jealousy is an ugly emotion.”

“A wonky dog, _so_ artistic,” Waverly teases back.

“I’m a visionary - you wouldn’t understand.”

Waverly relents on the joke, inexplicably happy to relinquish the final say for once. Normally she and Wynonna would go on _ad absurdum_ , always playfully trying to win the manufactured not-fight.

Now though, after years of enforced silence, she is simply happy to be part of the conversation at all. Simple pleasures seem even simpler now, like the way the emerald green grass feels beneath her hands as the evening cools. She threads the blades between her fingers, pulls at one and rolls it into a tiny spiral.

“Was that something you were good at then?” Waverly asks after a momentary pause. “Or are good at I guess, sorry.”

“Was what?” Nicole asks, sounding as though she was drifting.

“Art.”

This draws Nicole back to the present and she gives a short bark of a laugh. “ _Oh_. No, not at all. I guess I’m not terrible - I can copy stuff down as I see it, but I’m not sure it would be considered artistic by the common definition.”

“You could have told me you were, you know,” Waverly points out with a smile. “I’d have believed you.”

“Well shoot. Now I’ve missed my chance to convince you I’m an award-winning artist.”

“The award part might have pushed it too far.”

“Yeah, that and the time anyone asked me to demonstrate it,” Nicole points out reasonably before her tone shifts to something more considered and serious. “That’s what makes this place weird sometimes, I think. How many people are pretending at something, just because they can? You can be whatever or whoever you want here, and it’s probably freeing as hell but it’s also nuts.”

“Would it bother you?” Waverly asks suddenly. “No agenda, I promise - just curious.”

“Would it bother me if someone told me they were, like, a brain surgeon when they weren’t?”

“Mm.”

“I mean,” Nicole starts, before pausing and considering her answer. “I wouldn’t hold it against anyone. This place is pure wish fulfilment so people can take that to any degree they wish, I guess. But it would depend on the person, too.”

Waverly lets the answer wash over her for a moment before asking, “what do you mean? About the person?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I have had the ‘rocket scientist’ talk from people at bars already,” she says, chuckling. “But that happens back at home too - people want to impress others in any universe, just to try their luck. It is what it is.”

Waverly understands the meaning and she agrees with it: stuff like that does not matter if you are not really and truly trying to connect with the person.

She understands, still, that even now she and Nicole do not owe each other anything, least of all the truth about their real lives. But they feel like friends now, and the longer it goes on the more it would hurt if she were to discover that Nicole wasn’t a cop who liked hiking but couldn’t get out of the city much; who could draw but not, by her standards, well.

It would hurt to be deceived now, even in a place where they are all deceiving themselves on a weekly basis.

Perhaps those who are not tourists get to call this reality, but for the rest it is shameless escapism.

All the same, it had never occurred to Waverly to be anyone but herself. She would place a heavy bet that it had not occurred to Nicole either.

“So I shouldn’t tell you I’m a rocket scientist _and_ piano prodigy,” Waverly asks, joking because she does not really know what else to say.

At this, however, Nicole tears her gaze away from the clouds and tilts her face towards Waverly, turning big, soulful eyes on her.

“You can tell me whatever you want to Waverly,” she says softly, and Waverly can tell that - as hurt as she would be - Nicole still means it when she offers her the freedom to be what she wants.

“But…?” Waverly says, sensing a caveat. She turns her head fully towards Nicole and finds that they are close, so close that it is hard for Waverly to see Nicole’s face as a whole. She has not been this close to another person in a long time - not like this at least. She makes the most of it.

She tracks her eyes over the smooth skin of Nicole’s cheeks, lingering on the spot she knows turns into a dimple when Nicole smiles. She hones in on the tiny birthmark by her eye, and a then on a scar atop one eyebrow. Waverly commits the soft pink of her lips to memory, lets the fire of Nicole’s hair burn into her retinas as it stands stark against milky-pale skin.

Soon it will be another week before she is close to a person like this - both in body and spirit - and Waverly wants to remember enough to tide her over until next time; the soft skin of Nicole’s hand when it touches her wrist, the sound of her gentle puffs of breath, the sweet vanilla smell of her…

Nicole watches her back in silence, never quite answering Waverly’s question in words. The response sits between them all the same, non-verbal until Waverly speaks again but no less powerful for it.

“But I want to know you,” Waverly answers for Nicole in an echo of a previous conversation, her voice so soft that it is barely a whisper.

In response Nicole just nods.

“And you want to know me too,” Waverly adds.

“Yes, I do.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well, I’m not a rocket scientist, and I haven’t played piano in years. I’m not anybody, really,” Waverly says, a little sad at the fact that she has not been given a chance to make more of her life.

“Everybody’s somebody,” Nicole counters, voice still hushed, “and of all the people I’ve ever known - here or at home - you’re so far from ‘not anybody’ Waverly. The furthest of anyone I’ve met.”

“Perhaps,” Waverly says, both feeling and sounding unconvinced. “But it doesn’t feel like that a lot of the time. Mostly I’d just been a waitress in the tiny bar in my tiny, remote town. No cop school, nothing close to that. It’s not much to show really, is it?”

Waverly supposes that this is not entirely honest - working with Black Badge, albeit briefly, was certainly something. But after all their jokes about tall tales to impress others, she could hardly tell Nicole something so unbelievable.

“Well I _did_ get to be a cop,” Nicole says, “and I still ended up here at 32 - so don’t use that a measure of anything.”

This brazen admission finally seems to give Waverly permission to do the math she had been avoiding for propriety’s sake.

After five years bedbound, she is set to hit 28 soon enough. Nicole is only four years older than her. Another puzzle piece finds its place.

“Did you like it?” Nicole asks when Waverly doesn’t speak. “The bar? The town?”

“My aunt used to help run the bar, I loved that part of it - working with her and chatting with all our neighbours. It wasn’t the dream, but it was just fine.”

“Well, there you go then,” Nicole says, smiling. “Happiness is a lot to show for any number of years - no matter how you find it. But tell me about the dream anyway, if it doesn’t hurt too much to think about it.”

Waverly considers this for a moment. It does hurt, but she suspects that it always will. Of all the people who might understand, Nicole must be near the top of the list.

So, ignoring all advice about San Junipero, Waverly tells her. She tells her about the half-finished degree, about how distance learning makes it even easier to stall your education. She tells her about an uncle who encouraged a love of both ancient and off-beat history alike. She talks about the dead language certifications and this makes Nicole laugh.

“That was your birthday present?”

Waverly grins. “I know, I know.”

“How old were you?”

“I guess...twelve? Thirteen?”

“Every pre-teen’s dream,” Nicole says grandly, still laughing, but it does not feel like proper teasing. It does not sting the way it had when other people - people who were supposed to be her friends - had laughed. They were just kids, but it had still sucked.

“It’s weird. _I’m_ weird, I get it -”

“It’s not weird,” Nicole says, trying to reassure Waverly slightly. “And you definitely aren’t.”

“What other word would you use?”

“Honestly? I guess it’s patronising but I’d use ‘endearing’.”

Waverly raises both eyebrows in a silent, exaggerated expression of disbelief.

“I’m being serious,” Nicole says, another little laugh bubbling up out of her chest. “I think I just learnt more about you in twenty seconds than all these other hours here. And I don’t mean that in a bad way, I swear. Just that - even though I don’t know much about you yet - that’s somehow the most... _you_ thing you could possibly have told me.”

“I’m just going to take that as a compliment.”

“It _is_ a compliment, trust me.”

And Waverly does. She does trust Nicole, so she tells her just how badly she wants to finish her education.

“I don’t think it’ll happen now, but I still think about it a lot.”

“Of course,” Nicole says, soft with understanding and tactful enough not to ask any more on that particular subject.

“It’s only fair if you tell me your own weird childhood obsession now, by the way.”

Nicole laughs. “No way, you’re too tough an act to follow. I don’t have anything half as good as yours.”

“So? Just give me whatever you got.”

Nicole yields like she never wanted to resist in the first place.

“Okay so. I was like, _obsessed_ with the idea of rock climbing and learning to abseil. But my parents wouldn’t let me, and in my area you couldn’t do more than the basics without parental consent until a certain age. My Saturday job didn’t pay much either, so I basically just had to wait and content myself with an indoor climbing wall. In the meantime, I just compulsively studied: I learnt the terms, I studied up on all the different outdoor climbing sites, I memorised all the equipment. When we got internet I watched Youtube videos of people demonstrating the gear for hours on end. I even used online forums for a while when I was about the same age as you with your dead languages. I don’t even know why I was so desperate to try it - I just felt like it was something I wanted to do.”

Nicole finishes talking and watches Waverly expectantly. The latter gives it a moment before declaring,

“And that was the most _you_ thing you could have told _me_ in return. I can’t even say how I know that. I just do.”

“I’m glad we can relate,” Nicole teases and it means countless different things at once.

It means: I’m glad you had a passion too; I’m glad you understand how it feels to miss it; I’m glad you feel like you know me just as much as I feel I know you; I’m glad that neither of us understands how a connection runs deeper than skin after mere hours together.

And again, Waverly is struck by the beauty of a connection like this. It affects her in a way that she had never felt before her life was frozen into place. It was a powerful feeling now, to be granted a new friendship in spite of the emotional and physical stasis of her other life.

Getting to know someone new is a privilege in and of itself, but to do so when she has been denied even the simplest of connections for so long is something else entirely. It fills Waverly to the brim with that ineffable feeling, the one so inextricably linked to the joy of coming to understand another person, and of letting them understand you in return.

It helps too, she supposes, when that soul is as beautiful and open as Nicole’s.

Nicole, who stays until it is time to leave again, as they lay side-by-side and try not to talk or think about the journey home.

With only moments to spare Nicole puts her hand over Waverly’s so gently it is like a sigh.

It disappears barely a second later. Everything does.

Every time, the loss is more acute. Every time, it hurts more - a little jab of pain in the part of Waverly’s chest that she thought time and loneliness had hollowed out completely.

It hurts, and she knows now that she is still alive.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Not Saturday. 2017.**

_In the crackle between the static, there is another demon lurking._

_Not one, but two._

_She can see it now, where only there had been glimmers before._

_Teeth in a mirror when she was a child. A shadow that never seemed to align with the sun. Half her life she had felt so alone, and only now does she understand that she had never once been alone at all. She had craved something more - but never a demon with sharp teeth and black, wizened soul._

_The one within her - the one that names itself as Mictian eventually, after months and months under her skin - gives her sight enough to see the other. This is the one that has always been with her._

_‘It wants you gone’ Mictian hisses inside her ear. ‘It wants you gone even more than I do.’_

_‘No. That’s not true. You need me,’ Waverly had protested, her inner voice growing weaker with every passing day. It is not much to know that her possessor needed her alive as a host, but it was something to give her hope that one day she could get her whole being back again._

_‘I did once,’ Mictian said back, knowing it could torture her now by keeping all the little details to itself. But Waverly feels the shift in her blood. Where once these two evil forces had pulled against each other - Waverly the rope in the tug-of-war - now they were forming an accord, an understanding._

_When she realises the truth of it, what little of her heart that remains her own sinks._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_**Not Saturday. 2023.** _

“It’s me,” comes the unexpected voice, and if Waverly could physically jump then she would have done. She had not heard anyone coming.

Dolls is far too quiet for his own good, which is why he tends to announce himself on the way in.

“ _Just_ me today I’m afraid. Alice has a summer cold - nothing to worry about but she’s been clinging to Wynonna like a limpet. No doubt she’ll pass the cold on, and then my life won’t be worth living while your sister stomps about with a blocked nose and sore throat. So I’m taking my chance to see you while I can.”

Dolls’ voice travels as he speaks, and Waverly knows he likes to move around when he talks like this. She suspects it helps him think.

There is no-one from whom Waverly does not relish a visit, but each person brings something special and Dolls is usually the voice of reason.

He cares, Lord knows he cares, but he is good at approaching problems analytically, and when everyone else around them seems to struggle emotionally with what has happened, Dolls is usually an oasis of calm. She dreads to think how it feels to be that person and she worries about when and how Dolls might let himself _feel_. She supposes - at least hopes - that he lets himself be vulnerable around Wynonna and that she does the same in return.

Those are the kinds of things no one tells Waverly anymore. Granted, she hardly imagines that, had she been well and within the land of the living, Wynonna would say much about her relationship. But she would have felt more able to share these things. They would have talked as sisters do.

But selfishly, in spite of all her worries for her family, she also appreciates Dolls’ collected, level-headed reports. This is most often the case when he visits alone.

Dolls is the person who is most likely to be honest with her, who trusts her enough to cope with the truth. She loves that best about him, even if she does not resent the others for trying to protect her.

“No demons tracked down this week,” he tells her quietly, so as not to be caught by the staff. “I think everyone is treating it as a vacation of sorts, even if they’re all terrible at taking time off.”

 _You are too_ , Waverly would say if she could.

“I suppose it coincided well - gives Wynonna some time with Alice. We all wish you could see her growing up - you two would get on so well.”

 _I know_ , would be response. Waverly has known that for years.

“And, since it’s Sunday, I guess you went somewhere a little different last night. I hope you’re enjoying it. To be completely honest Waverly, Wynonna has been reading manuals and advice forums like a woman possessed. I’m not sure all the advice is good advice. I’ve told her not to keep reading - but you know better than anyone what your sister can be like.”

 _Single-minded and stubborn_ , Waverly thinks.

“Just like you, really,” Dolls adds thoughtfully, as if he might have heard her. Waverly can tell that he is smiling.

“Anyway,” he goes on, “there’s all sorts of warnings about difficult adjustment periods on one end of the spectrum, or about about overdependence on the other. I’ve told Wynonna you’re made of tough stuff, not that she needs to hear that from me really.

“She won’t let on that she worries, but it’s hard having to make a choice like that. It was a no-brainer to the rest of us, but we weren’t the ones signing our name on the consent form. If and when you can - don’t let on that I tell you this stuff. You’re the only one who knows I’m actually kind of scared of her.”

Of course, everyone knows this really but even if she could, Waverly would not point that out.

“She’d kill me if she knew I told you extra stuff, but I know you Waverly. Not as well as Wynonna, of course - but sometimes that kind of love doesn’t mean you think clearly. I know you’re too smart to believe everything is always peachy or easy enough for us, and if it were me I’d hate to think I was being kept in the dark.

“She just wants to protect you; that’s all she’s ever wanted to do. And it’s killing her not knowing whether the choice she’s made is keeping you safe and happy. But I’m certain that you are. I just wish we could hear all about your nights in San Junipero.”

The sadness in Waverly at moments like this feels like a physical pain. It is like someone is jabbing at her between her ribs. She is missing so much and now, even when she is experiencing new things, she cannot tell her family about it.

She cannot tell them about her apartment or the funfair or the park or _Nicole_.

 _I saw the ocean_. _Tell Wynonna I saw the whole goddamn ocean_.

Waverly wants to scream it, wants her family to know that this is so far from the life she dreamed about but that, if it has to be this way now, then she is nearing something close to content.

Five hours in San Junipero no longer seem enough, but they will do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm out again for another week. Comments make my day so please drop one below if you have a moment!
> 
> Thank you for reading, take care and see you next week!!
> 
> stan twitter: @rositabustiiios  
> writing twitter: @alissawrites  
> tumblr: birositabustillos  
> ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/alissawrites


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly settles into life with Nicole in San Junipero...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I can’t believe it’s Tuesday again already but I’m always my usual brand of weirdly excited-nervous to update. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who’s dropped by on twitter/tumblr to speak about the fic and thank you sooo much if you take the time to review weekly. I hope this fic is going along alright for everyone who’s reading it and would really love to hear what you’re thinking if you’ve got to this point and not lmk yet!
> 
> This is maybe a bit more of a filler chapter - as you know if you’ve read anything else of mine or seen my tweets, I do love a good bit of Waverly introspection so that’s sort of where we are this week. I really hope you guys like seeing Waverly’s growing relationship with Nicole as she reflects.
> 
> The bits of canon I’ve selectively used/forgone as applicable in this fic go a bit wibbly but it’s an au and I am nothing if not flaky in my use of canon in aus. Sorry, I think. 
> 
> The spotify playlist I used to write this chapter is here: https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/5ILlMxibXLjZM1RKcEBGsr?si=f6-5bOvATuSJd8zdlykDJg

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

Time moves on, but never has it moved like this for Waverly. It moves faster in many ways, now that she has something to look forward to. 

Before San Junipero, she had given up on wishing her days away - there was nothing to count down to. 

Initially, it hadn’t been so bad.  

When the team rallied round at the start, trying to work out what had happened, Waverly had retained some hope. 

Mitctian had all but destroyed any optimism she had left, but if Waverly believed in anyone or anything at all, it was her ramshackle little family unit. 

Her faith is well placed, because they work out fairly quickly that there is demonic magic at play, but Waverly had kept the demons a secret to protect those around her and in so doing she had more heavily sealed her own chequered fate. 

But it had done the trick. Wynonna was safe. They were all safe.

Mitctian had wanted so desperately to use Waverly to undermine the team. Had Waverly let it, the monster would have taken her mind completely and used her body to destroy every word of research she had ever recorded. It would have stolen Peacemaker, it might even have harmed the people Waverly loved the most. 

It sensed Wynonna’s pregnancy long before anyone else, and as soon as it knew about another heir it had grown more frantic than ever before. 

That had been the decline for her, in the end. 

She was strong but Mictian was stronger, and soon Waverly understood that it meant to bind with her forever. The only thing stopping it, perversely, had been the other one. The other demon roped to Waverly’s side. 

The one she had perceived all her life - a near-constant sense of unease, of anxiety at the pit of her stomach - but never identified. 

Mitcitan shows it to her, calls it Waverly’s twin. Mictian shows her the twin’s heart, lets Waverly feel the fury and the hatred the other demon harbours. 

Waverly had never known anything like it in her life, had never known such burning anger even with Mictian’s rage laced between the layers in her skin. 

By that point, though, Mictian was already claiming her mind and her volition for more hours than it gave her freedom. By that point, Waverly was mostly already gone. 

In some ways, what happened was a relief.

It is a painful truth, but for the first week it almost felt like peace.

She grieved for her team, of course. She felt their pain acutely as they tried to find a cause and a solution to the situation. There had been no warning - only Waverly’s strange, erratic behaviour and that was not enough evidence to draw any immediate conclusions. 

The only thing they had at their disposal was Black Badge, and the organisation was already mostly estranged from Dolls and the rest of the team by then.

But even amongst all the sadness and all of the fear for her future, it was peaceful to have her body empty of demons. It was peaceful, not having to fight Mictian off all the time. Mictian was gone, but in many ways it had kept Waverly anyway. 

Of course, that feeling of serenity faded quickly and was replaced by a pervasive sense of panic once it became clear that there were no obvious solutions. The doctors do some fancy tests to determine that Waverly is conscious and very much alive in her own body, and that bombshell shatters between them all for a while. 

It is what her friends had wanted, naturally. They had wanted to know she could still be saved, but the knowledge brings guilt with it. Guilt because from then on they all know she is aware of her circumstances and no one could understand how that felt. No one could help her physically or emotionally. 

She was trapped, and there was no timeframe for how long it would last.

At first she had been scared and the fear had lasted weeks. She had thought she had known the acrid taste of anxiety at the back of her throat before, but it was all but eclipsed in the face of  _ this _ . The steady thrum of fear bubbled in her veins for weeks on end, her body in persistent fight or flight mode even if she had no capacity to do either. 

Then came the anger and the frustration. That had been the darkest time for her. Stuck in an uncooperative body while the doctors and a few BBD scientists loyal to Dolls and Jeremy ran test after test after test. 

The conclusion was always the same. 

“The problem is that there’s nothing wrong with her,” had been the response time and time again, leaving Waverly desperate to scream at them that everything was wrong. 

Wynonna more or less  _ had _ screamed at them, stating much the same sentiment. 

“Well clearly there’s something not right given that my baby sister hasn’t opened her eyes or moved a muscle in months.” 

Dolls, as ever, had stepped in every time the argument repeated itself. Doc too, actually.

Even so, Waverly understood the gist of it. 

Every test they ran came back okay. Her bloods were always in perfect chemical balance, her brain activity was registering as normal. There were no foreign bacterias, viruses, or infections that could account for her state. She had not ingested poison, her blood pressure was low but functional, her organs weren’t failing her…

There was nothing to treat, not with regular human medicine anyway, and at the realisation of it Waverly could only scream on the inside until it really was as though her head was spinning. 

Because there were only demons; one with a taste for chaos and the other with a lifelong grudge match.  

Two demons she had told no one about, and the accord the two of them had formed. Because one could not live if Waverly died in any way but at her own hand, and the other wanted to keep her body until the day it drained her strength entirely. Mictian, she knew, had planned to cast her aside then for a new host, and the twin could not allow that to happen.

They fought over her until - with Mictian inside of her - she was exhausted. They fought until even Mictian felt a sense of fatigue. Waverly perceived it and she got some of herself back for a short while as it recovered. 

But it was only the calm before the storm. This now was the storm in its own quiet way. 

And while her family tried to fathom all this out, Waverly simmered. 

She could be calm at first, could rest and barely swim into consciousness for days and days. But the longer it all went on - the first weeks and months of this strange kind of hell - she had been frustrated and angry. She had wanted to scream her lungs out, she had wanted to kick her legs, or clench her hands into fists and hit something. 

It lasted a long time, that feeling. She felt useless, and she felt guilty that her loved ones were hurting too. But all things must end and so did the anger. It was tiring and even with little else to leech her energy, Waverly could not sustain it. There was only despair in its wake and always, at any one time, a sadness so heavy that it sat on her chest like a lead weight and stole her breath away. 

She had started to resign herself to living this way forever; the thought like a boulder in her belly that, with medical care and attention, she could live sixty more years like this. Seventy even. 

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair on any of them. 

So when there is light, she basks in it. That is all she can really do these days.

And today, even a few days away from San Junipero, there is light enough. 

There is Jeremy and Rosita for the night. There is their love to keep Waverly afloat. 

The revelation that Rosita is a revenant had taken a while to sink in, the information only delivered to Waverly well after the others had made the discovery. The news that desperation and delirious fear had driven her to consider selling out little Alice had been even harder to swallow.

But in the end she had made a different choice, and she had stayed and fought against Bulshar too. 

Best of all, with the demon Sheriff gone for good, the Earp curse had found its demise with him. No need for Rosita to fear Peacemaker any longer. No need for Jeremy to lose someone else with whom he had found common ground and friendship.  

No need for Waverly to lose a friend either. 

With very few people outside of her Black Badge team to occupy her time in Purgatory, Waverly had tried to help at Shorty’s whenever she had been free of Mictian’s mind control. 

There wasn’t much time to know Rosita, but Waverly had liked her enough. She liked Rosita even more now, knowing that she had not abandoned the team.

She had not abandoned Waverly either.

She and Jeremy are here now and Waverly is reliably informed that they are in pyjamas. Visiting hours should be strict here, but with a situation like Waverly’s, no one bothers to enforce anything - so long as her guests do not disturb anyone else. 

It is movie night. 

It is not a lot, but it is as much as Jeremy and Rosita can offer in the way of normality and Waverly appreciates it. 

In the time before, they used to bat around the idea of a monthly movie night - at least Jeremy urged Waverly often to organise something. They never got round to it in the time before the stasis, but Jeremy and Rosita do it now.

As is the way of things in Waverly’s life, the first one had come with a hundred disclaimers.

“We hope it won’t be annoying, having us here for two hours - ”

“- especially in the evening, when you maybe want to sleep.” 

“We also talked a lot about whether this is insensitive. We went back and forth on the idea loads - ”

“ - so, so many times Wave - ”

“- and of course we can’t be sure we’re doing the right thing. But on balance, well, we decided to go for it.” 

“We thought you might need the entertainment.”

“We miss you.” 

Of course, Waverly had possessed no scope for feedback, but she loves these nights all the same. 

Sometimes, to picture it, she feels strange about it all. But that is the worst of it. 

She struggles to imagine the scene. A generic hospital room. A television or perhaps Jeremy’s laptop. Snacks - because Jeremy always has to have snacks. Her two friends, sat together in the hospital-issue chairs in their pyjama pants, like they would all have done at Jeremy’s apartment. But then there is Waverly: inanimate, unresponsive, and uncommunicative. Face smooth and expressionless, completely unable to engage. 

It seems almost too odd to bear, and she understands why Rosita and Jeremy hesitated to instate such a routine. But she would be far unhappier to miss out. The two of them actually play good movies - usually reruns of old nostalgic favourites rather than new releases for Waverly’s benefit - and they chatter through the whole thing. 

Just as when Jeremy talked about his date, when they are all together he and Rosita fill the silence with the kind of gossip Waverly craves. 

She wants to know more than just the basics. She wants to know about her loved ones’ lives as they  _ really  _ are. She wants to know about good dates or bad dates, she wants to know about their new interests or the last book they read. 

She is following Jeremy’s progressive love life as best she can, and she is heavily, heavily invested in the undercurrent that passes between Rosita and one particular female nurse whenever they are both present in the room.

They only seem to share a fairly functional back and forth in front of Waverly, but she is certain there is something passing below the surface and she would be on the matchmaking case already if she had the capacity to do so. 

But as it is, Waverly can only be a passive observer of sorts, and all she can do is figuratively settle back and relax as Jeremy starts up a true Disney classic:  _ Mulan _ . 

Rosita and Jeremy chatter about inanities; gossip from Shorty’s, the latest social media happenings, even wider current affairs…

They seem to have plans to hit the city for a late, off-season pride celebration and for a short moment Waverly cannot understand why her mind races at the mention of it.

Then she connects the dots to Nicole (has been connecting a lot of dots to Nicole recently) and wonders if it is inappropriate to tell her about Jeremy and Rosita’s plans. 

She feels certain that Jeremy and Rosita would have liked Nicole too. She dreams idly of another life where the four of them could have a movie night together, one they could all participate in properly.

She and Nicole have not spent an evening in yet, but as autumn rears its head it may well become a possibility. As much as excitement and new adventures, Waverly also craves a cozy, wintry Saturday night of takeout and trashy movies. 

She wants to pitch the idea, but something holds her back. She is still unsure, still faltering when it comes to a feeling that she co-opts Nicole’s free time in San Junipero. Perhaps Nicole wants to make the most of her free hours. Perhaps Nicole would want to be out and about, walking through the forest or sat at a bar. Perhaps time idle indoors would seem like time wasted.

Perhaps she does enough of that back at home. They still have not much discussed it. 

It is absurd, really, because they have been joined at the hip these past weeks. But even so, the insecurities persist.

They persist even when, a few weeks after their picnic, Nicole had dropped the bombshell that her visits to San Junipero were being increased. 

“Still Saturdays only. But a few extra hours each afternoon. The doctors and psychiatrists seem to think I’m adjusting well, but I guess it’s also a bad prognosis in another sense.” 

She had said no more than that, but had Waverly felt Nicole’s sadness intensely. She did not need to be told that longer visits to San Junipero meant a decreased grip on health at home. She had wanted to say something to Nicole, but no words can make this sort of thing better. Acting on instinct, she had instead offered only one word of apology and held her arms out for a hug, one that Nicole accepted immediately. 

They had settled into each other’s space, and Waverly had felt it like a tidal wave, the sweet sigh of her first embrace in years. Nicole felt so solid and so warm; she felt real. 

She also gave good hugs. She held Waverly tight, arms strong and body supple, and she was just tall enough that she could prop her chin atop Waverly’s head. It felt safe to be held like this, Waverly’s body singing like a chorus in response. They had lingered for perhaps a little too long, but given that it seemed to be by mutual consent neither of them seemed to mind. 

In fact, it opens the floodgates because suddenly they are more tactile than ever. 

Evidently, Nicole had never had much issue with taking Waverly’s hand (even if they were just tracing clouds), and in the time before Mictian Waverly had always sought out physical touch. It was easy, once they had relearned the other’s personal space boundaries, for Waverly to lay her head against Nicole’s shoulder late at night or for Nicole to creep closer to Waverly when they sat around a restaurant table together. 

In fact, after the vegan discovery, Nicole takes it upon herself to show Waverly the more artsy, hidden corners of San Junipero. She has a couple of hours to kill before Waverly arrives now and she seems to put them towards planning and research.

The more modern the year, the more easily she finds vegan storefronts or food trucks for Waverly to try.

It would seem that the city’s layout stays the same on whichever year they choose to visit, though in the interests of eating their way around the city they mostly stick to the 2010s for a while. The buildings are consistent year-for-year and the nature of each institution stays the same too. A bar is always a bar, a restaurant is always a restaurant, but the closer they skirt to the present day, the more Waverly-friendly options Nicole finds because San Junipero seems to stay true to all trends and changes. 

Waverly insists that Nicole does not have to go out of her way, but she seems to enjoy making the gesture. 

In fact, she seems to enjoy making a lot of gestures. 

While the summer clings on longer than seems entirely believable, Nicole takes Waverly swimming one night in 2013. There is nothing special about the year, they are simply ticking boxes as they go. 

Era notwithstanding, it feels like a Spring Break that Waverly never experienced. 

It was one thing for Waverly to see the ocean. It is another entirely to finally swim in it. Waverly had never mentioned the desire to do so, but Nicole must have sensed it somehow. 

She selects a beach closer to the city this time, so that they can be on the golden sand with their soft, patterned beach bags in tow before the sun starts to sink.

They unfurl their towels and lay them on the sand so that the long edges touch, and Waverly kicks her sandals off to feel the warm, dry sand sink beneath her bare feet. The beach is humming with activity, with groups of young people clustered around cool bags or throwaway barbeques. The smell of burgers cooking wafts on the soft breeze, and even though Waverly has no desire to eat any of the food, the smell still stokes at her senses. She has never been to the beach before San Junipero, but this is exactly what she pictured.

Friends and even little families together at the end of the day, the sound of the sea as it climbs towards high tide, and the smell of food cooking - all of it was straight out of her quaintest fantasies.

She pauses to take it all in, and catches Nicole watching her when she turns to face her friend again. 

“This really  _ does _ feel like heaven,” Waverly observes, wide smile taut against her cheeks. 

Nicole, on the other hand, has a soft, contemplative expression on her face. Her eyes never once leave Waverly’s face as rather seriously she says -

“Yes, it does.”

Waverly feels her heart swoop, the response unexpected and somewhat inexplicable. She cannot think how to respond, so she turns to rifle through her bag and search for sunscreen. There is no need for it really, but if she is to live her beach dream to completion, she has to end the night smelling of the stuff. 

They both strip down to their swimwear (ready underneath their clothes) and Nicole studiously does not look at Waverly as they do so. It gives Waverly pause and she wonders how many times Nicole has been made to feel out of sorts in an environment like this. She might have grown up in the Ghost River Triangle but she knows how the boys treated the only out gay kid in their grade. Robin always hated sports, and it never had a single thing to do with his aptitude for them. 

Waverly feels guilty, worried that Nicole has sacrificed her own enjoyment and comfort for Waverly. 

She thinks and loses herself and she does not mean to look at Nicole, but by accident she finds herself doing so anyway. She does not miss the sight of her in a swimming costume, all smooth skin and strong stomach. She looks like a cop, like the kind of cop who actually hits the gym and takes her job seriously. 

Waverly notices more details than she would later admit until she catches herself, and hurries to look away as she smothers a blush that settles on the side of her neck.  

She wastes no time suggesting a swim after that - the better to distract herself from this sudden and strange bout of curiosity.

They descend beneath the waves together and the temperature is pleasantly warm as they tread water, bare legs colliding together from time to time. 

Nicole does a few different strokes for a while, but Waverly is content to float on her back and enjoy the sensation of the water moving her body from side to side. 

If she closes her eyes, it is almost like being back at home - body suspended and motionless, Waverly not in charge of her movements at all. But this, she acknowledges for the first time, is better. It is a shock to the system, finally arriving at a mindset where San Junipero wins out. She had been fiercely determined to stay loyal to her loved ones - whatever San Junipero could offer, it could not offer visits from them - but the knowledge that she can open her eyes at any time and engage with the scene around her is a siren song and Waverly could feel herself succumbing. She likes the adventures, she likes feeling herself again, and she really likes Nicole. 

It makes her feel like a traitor to prefer all of this  _ but _ , she questions when the cheeps of a nearby wading bird start up,  _ who wouldn’t prefer freedom to captivity? _

Surely no one back at home could expect Waverly to be anything but happy when Nicole eventually appears at her side again, and she does not have to lay motionless and listen to her friend’s words as an impassive observer? Surely no one could begrudge her smile when she hears Nicole say -

“You’re going to shrivel up if you bob about much longer. Or you’ll end up halfway out to sea.”

Waverly smiles because Nicole is like a balm, always appearing with a soft-shelled quip at the most opportune moments. But Waverly also smiles because here in San Junipero, it is within her power to open one eye and level a beady stare upwards, taking in the sight of Nicole’s pale skin shining with seawater. Her hair is too short to tie back, so it is plastered to her cheeks in places.

“What happens in San Junipero if I just keep floating further and further out?” she asks in a defiant tone, the way someone might say  _ what’s to stop me _ ?

“Probably nothing bad, but as an ex-lifeguard I wouldn’t endorse the experiment. Especially not at night.”  

This finally makes Waverly sit up, returning to treading water beside Nicole. By unspoken agreement, they both let the gentle waves push them in the direction of the beach.

“As an ex-what now?” 

“Lifeguard,” Nicole replies mildly. “It was a decent summer job at the local pool in my senior year and then it was one of the rotations at my college sports centre. It was easy pay both times, if I’m being honest.”

“Did you ever have to save anyone?” Waverly asks as her feet hit the seabed, sliding slightly over a flat stone and a clump of cool, slimy seaweed. 

“Yeah, a few times. Kids can be dumb.” 

“And did you have the red one piece?” 

Nicole raises an eyebrow in query, but once again Waverly does not have an explanation for herself. 

“Yes, I did,” Nicole replies evenly as they wade out of the water and battle up the beach, sand clinging to their wet feet and climbing up their ankles. 

This is an obvious drawback to the beach, but not one Waverly had necessarily considered. It is far less rosy-hued in reality, sat awkwardly in the centre of your towel as you try to dry off, praying that as little sand as possible comes into contact with the rest of your wet skin. 

They pass the time away by chatting as normal. It is rare that an unwelcome silence sits between them, although they are both just as happy with a companionable hush from time-to-time. Even now, prolonged interaction is sometimes still a little hard to sustain after years of silence, and Nicole reminds Waverly time and again that she can take a Saturday to herself if she needs the alone time. 

And Waverly knows that she will, if the need ever arises. But she has had five years of alone time. She has over six days of it per week even now. She is having far too much fun now that she has someone to share herself and her time with to contemplate a solo visit any time soon. 

Between them, she and Nicole risk another swim at sundown, but it is colder now and Waverly only lasts until the sun first kisses the horizon. After she has seen the beginning of the spectacle, she taps out and Nicole follows shortly after. 

Waverly dries her hair and watches Nicole as she swims back and forth. Waverly knows by now that Nicole had been sporty and she had played on more teams than Waverly had thought was allowed. There had, so far as Waverly could count, been soccer and softball, hockey and a stint on her high school’s swim team too. 

It brings Waverly some peace to see Nicole enjoying the water, understanding suddenly that this trip had not been solely for Waverly after all. The realisation does not diminish the experience for a single second. 

They end the night at the nearby beach bar-slash-restaurant. They sample an unreasonable amount of gimmicky cocktails with huge pineapple segments wedged onto the glass or bright pink cocktail umbrellas embedded into a glacé cherry. 

Feeling somewhere close to tipsy by the time the clock chimes eleven, they start swapping stories about past nights out at home, about college or high school, and - for the first time - about exes. 

Waverly glosses over most of the story with Champ, just highlighting a few funny anecdotes that make Nicole smile and laugh until her dimples show. 

In return, Waverly listens to Nicole speak about a once-embarrassing but now apparently rather amusing story involving a date with her first college girlfriend. 

As she follows the story, Waverly catches herself wondering with genuine interest how it would have felt to kiss another woman, or even to go to bed with one. 

The thought has never crossed Waverly’s mind so overtly before, at least not since she was a pubescant pre-teen curious about literally everything in at least an objective sense. 

It hits her like a kick to the chest, but she wants to be present in the moment with Nicole and before she can process it all properly the night is over and she is back in her bed alone. 

 

 

 

 

 

After the visit to the beach, Waverly studiously ignores her unexpected bout of curiosity and deliberately spends her week thinking up new ideas for things she and Nicole can do in San Junipero.

She wants to make a concerted effort to plan more activities herself, rather than leaving all the gestures to Nicole. So, the next week they break their streak in the 2010s by visiting a bowling alley circa 2005 at Waverly’s suggestion. She is thinking partly of her tenth birthday party at the Ghost River Triangle’s sole, dilapidated alley. They follow it up with drinks at the bar in which they met, both content to sip from their glasses and people-watch for the rest of the night. Waverly lets slip that her birthday is approaching in the week to follow and thinks nothing more of it when she is back at home. 

A few beers in, Waverly finds herself sitting closer to Nicole at their usual booth. She catches the half-startled look Nicole throws her before it is masked again, but she is glad that Nicole doesn’t ask any questions. Waverly does not even have any answers for herself.

 

 

 

 

 

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Waverly...Happy Birthday to you!” 

It is not her birthday yet, but Chrissy must have assumed that Wynonna would be around with Alice tomorrow, so she and the Sheriff had visited early. 

Waverly is reliably informed that they have brought balloons and flowers, and if she concentrates she can indeed smell the latter and hear the former creaking against each other as, presumably, they move in the breeze of the open window. 

Chrissy does not visit as often as Waverly’s BBD team, and her father seldom visits at all. Waverly does not expect them to - they are not beholden to her, and hospitals visits to your inanimate school friend’s bedside are kind of a drag. 

It also means that Chrissy has more to fill Waverly in on in one go - apparently Stephanie Jones’ old fiancé is now married, which seems fair enough given that Steph died years ago. A few other people  from school have done or said some things of note, and Chrissy of course has a life and job of her own to tell Waverly about.

The Sheriff does not say much, but he had always been a man of few words. Waverly can imagine that he does not have the first clue what to say now and she can hardly say she blames him. 

They do not stay especially long, and less than twenty four hours later, the rest of her friends and family arrive on her actual birthday. 

It is no longer a day she especially relishes, but she does appreciate the group’s efforts to show that they have not forgotten her important milestones. 

As a child, both her mother and aunt used to throw wonderful birthday parties, and her uncle was a notoriously generous gift-giver. In the intervening years when her father was her guardian, he would usually forget Waverly’s birthday altogether. 

He never forgot her sisters’ birthdays - only Waverly’s. 

So Waverly had always had varying stances on her birthday, but generally they had skewed to the positive. Mama and Aunt Gus had always made a huge effort for their girls, with cake and balloons and decorations put up all around the house. And as an adult, Waverly had her fair share of legendary birthday parties with Chrissy and other girls from their grade. But now, her birthdays were only symbolic of stagnation.

Another year and no progress. Another year of that stitled feeling of everyone piling into a hospital room and trying to pretend this is a happy day when, in reality, it has not been a happy day for years now. Other celebrations are different. Christmas, for example, is a celebration for everyone (and especially for Alice). 

But Waverly’s birthday is meant to be about her, and she cannot and does not participate. It has always felt strange to her that it is acknowledged now.

Still, she is grateful that Wynonna tries. It is a no-win situation for her sister, who must either suffer through a stilted and utterly hollow play at normality, or feel guilty that Waverly might think she has been forgotten. 

Waverly understands that it is probably more important to Wynonna than to Waverly herself to make something out of this day. 

So, upon the group’s arrival and following the procurement of enough chairs, Wynonna is the first bar Alice to say ‘Happy Birthday’. Then, the latter announces that she has picked wildflowers from the homestead garden and has done a drawing. This is another of Alice’s little artworks Waverly may never see, but again she is happy for her niece’s efforts - children seem to adapt to the strangeness of things much more easily. 

Although it would be unfair to say that the adults around Alice do a bad job. Jeremy and Rosita have always been good at falling into something of a comedic rapport around Waverly, and if it felt slightly forced at the beginning it had ceased to do so long ago. With Alice around and full of joy and chatter, Doc and Dolls come alive in equal measure, and Wynonna has always done an almost convincing job of keeping the mood light when she visits. 

It means that things genuinely are fun and funny in equal measure, and it feels nice to have something to make her smile inwardly here, as well as during her Saturday night outings. 

But sometimes after days like this, her room feels emptier than ever when her guests vacate it and this year, her birthday is no exception. 

It might have been the first creepings of a fall chill, but the air felt colder that night and Waverly’s heart felt a little heavier. It was perverse but sometimes happy days made the sense of entrapment more acute and she supposes she must count her blessings that her birthday had this year fallen on a Friday and her escape route was a mere day away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Saturday. 1998.  
**Visit 9.0****

For the second time, Nicole had given Waverly an instruction on where to meet and was, somehow, running late.

It was only the fact that she otherwise seemed like a punctual, organised person that gave Waverly cause to think there must be an important reason for the tardiness.

This does not, however, stop her from giving Nicole crap when she finally does turn up. Nicole is a few paces away, gait fast and long as she hurries, when Waverly lets the chiding begin.

“How is it,” she begins, inserting dramatic pauses every few words, “that  _ you _ are the one with extra time here - ”

On the approach, Nicole rolls her eyes. “Don’t…”

“No, no. I want to.” 

  
“I’m sure you do.”

Waverly grins. “How is it that you’re the one with extra hours here, but  _ I’m _ the one who turns up on time?” 

“Not a great timekeeper back at home, huh?” Nicole asks, and Waverly makes a show of crinkling her brow and feigning ignorance as she wonders how Nicole could possibly know that. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Well, as someone who is a fantastic timekeeper normally - only annoying, perpetually late people take  _ this _ much joy in what is essentially a tiny victory.” Nicole pokes playfully at Waverly’s side before setting off on a parody. “Oh wow, look at me, I completed the basic human achievement of being somewhere at a specified time…”

Waverly crosses her arms. “It’s better than you’ve managed.” 

“I have a very good reason, and I’m going to seriously enjoy rubbing it in when you find out what it is.” 

“You are a very smug person, so I don’t doubt it,” Waverly jokes in response, knowing that Nicole will know she does not mean the insult. “In the meantime, do you want to tell me why you oh-so mysteriously suggested this time and this place and staunchly refused any further information?”

They are in a quiet, leafy part of a more artsy quarter of San Junipero. Nicole had left her with little more than a street name and a rough description of the intersection where they needed to meet. Even now, her intentions were not entirely clear. There is a big building across the road which seems to be a movie theatre, or perhaps just a regular theatre, and on their side of the street there is a small, modest slice of green. It is too small be a park, but still a nice enough retreat with benches and a little grassy block.  

They are also back in their nineties garb. Nicole is dressed much as she was when they went to the arcade, and Waverly is wearing a pair of uncomfortably straight-legged jeans to accommodate the slow shifting of the seasons. Skinny jeans or leggings had largely become essential to her wardrobe back home, and very few trends had been able to force her to consider deviating from such a style. The taper of her pants feels weird now, and she is certain it is less than flattering. Still, it feels like a costume party again, and Waverly cannot say it has yet ceased to be entertaining. 

She lets Nicole direct them to a bench and they settle together. Nicole immediately begins rummaging in her bag, leaving Waverly to wait and reflect in contented silence. 

Things have been shifting between them, but Waverly cannot quite put her finger on it yet. They have two months-worth of San Junipero outings under their belts and Waverly suspects that the shift can be best summed up as a matter of time together. She has never once felt ill at ease with Nicole but they fall into such a rhythm now that they are completely at peace in each other’s company. That, Waverly thinks, simply comes from time and exposure to one another. 

Still, all she knows for certain is that it feels like something is settling within her; her soul quietening after years of turmoil, perhaps. Certainly, the change is from the inside as much as from Nicole’s external influence, but the two now feel inextricably linked - the state of her soul and Nicole’s unintended and perhaps unconscious impact upon it.

She finds herself thinking of Nicole often during all her downtime. She pictures them together in San Junipero, happy and content, the scenes hazy as if half-dream and half-conscious thought. She anticipates the way they will spend each coming Saturday, how they will laugh and bask in each other’s company. 

And every week, they do just that. 

She thinks of Nicole’s open, easy demeanour and her pretty, charming dimples. She thinks of the life Nicole might have, even though she knows she should banish such speculations. She wonders of Nicole’s family - of the one that is blood, but more so the one that is not. She wonders who visits Nicole, and if there is one particular  _ someone _ back at home. 

Nicole never mentions a current girlfriend, but Waverly finds herself wondering more and more. A few times, she almost dares to ask but always they have shared such information by common, unspoken assent. They offer the information ostensibly  _ without _ being asked, and so Waverly has not yet dared to bring it up.  

The more time they spend together, however, the more she wants to know the answer. Then, the more she wants to know the answer, the less self-reflective she becomes. This move is quite deliberate because she is starting to suspect something important. There is something important about herself hovering at the edge of her consciousness and it is the kind of hard adjustment that is, currently, easier to ignore. 

Nicole is still oblivious to all this because Waverly has not mentioned any of it, and instead she is lost in her attempt to wrestle something from her bag. 

She finds it with relative ease and produces it with a flourish, handing Waverly a tupperware container and a small pink envelope. 

“For you,” Nicole says and she looks so earnest and proud that Waverly feels her stomach twist. “I  _ am _ late but I bear gifts.” 

For a second, Waverly is nonplussed. “Gifts? Why?” 

“You told me it was your birthday this week,” Nicole says immediately, laughing at the confusion etched onto Waverly’s face. “So it’s a birthday party today. Complete with homemade cupcakes - yes, that’s why I’m so late. I can’t bake but please don’t break my heart if they’re bad.” 

Waverly feels a sense of disbelief settle over her as she opens the tupperware to find a selection of little cakes, all of them piped with slightly messy frosting and topped with an array of mixed sprinkles. The envelope contains a card - with a generic cover but a heartfelt, handwritten message on the inside - and it takes Waverly a moment to process the gesture. 

She does not speak for a moment, and she can tell her silence makes Nicole worry that she might have made the wrong move. She speaks to fill the void, explaining her thought process. 

“I also figured we could catch a movie. You mentioned it a couple of weeks back - your friends tried to do a movie night but you couldn’t really participate that time. So I figured we could do it here. You said it was  _ Mulan _ and Disney is everybody’s jam so I thought…” Nicole trails off one sentence and picks up another. “I thought it came out earlier in the year, but movies play longer here I guess.” 

Nicole says this pointedly, her eyes sparkling. San Junipero still throws them both for a loop sometimes - a lot of realism mixed with just a hint of the impossible, always for convenience or for fun. 

Still, Waverly cannot find the words to say what this all means and again, Nicole falters slightly. 

“Sorry. Maybe it was a bit too close to home. I didn’t think that maybe it was overstepping,” Nicole ventures and, for the very first time since they met, she looks genuinely lost and unsure. “We can do something else if - or you know I can g- ”

The shock in Waverly is deep but the urge to reassure is knee-jerk and immediate too. 

“No, Nicole - never. I - I’m just…” 

Waverly struggles, because she is so touched by the gesture. The cakes, the movie - her  _ birthday _ as a whole. Nicole had listened. She had really, really listened. She did not even know that Waverly could no longer make her voice heard in another reality, and still she listened. 

All Waverly can do in the end is settle for a long, lingering hug. She settles into the crook of Nicole’s neck - a space which she has increasingly found synonymous with the feeling of home. 

The urge to hold onto Nicole for as long as possible is strong, and it interweaves with something else swirling under Waverly’s skin. They draw back from the hug and they look at each other for a moment, faces still close and eyes desperate to latch onto the other’s gaze.

Something could pass between them then, but the moment drifts by without acknowledgement.

 

 

 

 

 

Instead, they make their way into the theatre and sit close together, eating an array of setting-appropriate junk food.

There is strange thrill in seeing an old, childhood staple as though it is a new release and, Waverly admits to herself, there is an even bigger thrill in sharing the moment with Nicole. 

_ Nicole _ . Sweet Nicole who had thought of all of this just for Waverly.

Every week, she goes to San Junipero and thinks she is at her happiest whilst there; and every week, Nicole keeps surprising her.

It hits Waverly then in that moment, with Nicole arm brushing close against her own, that she is  _ happy _ .

She isn’t questioning it anymore. She isn’t second-guessing it.

She is just happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more next time on Waverly’s self realisation if you guys somehow can’t already guess what it is [insert multiple eyes emojis]
> 
> If you have a moment or two to spare, a comment would mean the world, or hmu on -  
> twitter: @rositabustiiios  
> tumblr: birositabustillos  
> ko-fi: www.ko-fi.com/alissawrites


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly is given a very, very rude (and not entirely literal) awakening to something important, and the mutual pining is real...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!! I feel like my weeks are flying by but at the moment I can't say I mind too much.
> 
> Thank you if you're still following this fic, happily for me I'm still knee-deep in the fluff (kinda hurt/comfort today??) and mutual pining section of the fic. The question I suppose is how long it lasts...
> 
> I've started trying to do my best to reply to fic comments, but I'm so bad when people say nice things I just sort of...[yelling] so if all I manage is "omg thank you sm" I'm so sorry. 
> 
> The only housekeeping this chapter is probably the location. I've decided to basically give Nicole a similar house as Kelly's from the original episode. If you haven't seen it I'd recommend checking out that part for some context.
> 
> EDIT 23/10: I'm an idiot and forgot the playlist for this update. Not sure if anyone uses them but this week's is here: https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/1eedNCOAviVcxLPrkFEcjP?si=xJ9fpI90QYaIVeOzshnEKA  
> Unfortunately, Spotify didn't seem to have the song this fic was named after on anything but a protected album. On the list, it comes after "See You Again/Love Me Like You Do..." and is by Zwette/Molly (  
> https://youtu.be/zQtnrLJ-CxE)

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

 

It is by about the tenth visit to San Junipero that Waverly starts dreaming of it too. This is the surest sign of all that Saturday nights have slipped into her sense of the new normal.

Spending her days as she does makes it hard to distinguish most things from a dream of sorts. It is always like she is drifting and even if she dreams of people at her bedside, she cannot always tell upon waking whether the conversation had been real. San Junipero, however, is so ethereal that it adds another layer of difficulty to the process.

Waverly cannot complain, however, because it is no bad thing to bring San Junipero to her sleeping hours too.

The dreams are usually quiet, uninvasive, and altogether rather pleasant. Often enough, she is simply sat around with Nicole at the beach or the park. Very occasionally they are thrust into some nonsensical scenario (in one, they are trying to escape an unknown, faceless pursuer) but always Nicole is there and usually all is peaceful.

Sometimes they are accompanied by someone from Waverly’s other life, but those are the dreams that leave an odd, sick feeling in her stomach. She tries not to think on those when she wakes. It is one thing for her conscious mind to think wishfully of such a union, but it is another entirely for her subconscious mind to launch a surprise attack.

Although the idea of her two lives mingling should always be a happy one, sometimes it leaves her feeling frustrated and out of sorts because she knows it cannot happen. She has no desire to drive herself round the bend by fixating on the impossible. Instead, she prioritises the possible. Namely, moments with Nicole.

It is nice to feel her presence even outside San Junipero.

By now, Waverly has given up all pretences regarding her fascination with Nicole.

She should not think about Nicole outside of their time together, but she does so anyway. She wonders about her laying in her own hospital room, one that could be a million miles away or could - for all Waverly knows - be right down the corridor.   

But the more she wonders about Nicole, the more she learns about herself instead.

She has a lot to think about.

Always, there is persistent hum of anxiety that she and Nicole have bonded so well out of shared loneliness and desperation. They are each caught in a storm of some kind, and they have been looking for shelter. It makes Waverly worry over the authenticity of their connection - surely humans stretch further and look harder for companionship when they are stuck in a well of emotional privation.

But the truth is, this is not - never has been - a case of any port in a storm.

Waverly knows she would have been drawn to Nicole in any reality. She would have liked Nicole outside of San Junipero, too. And she is starting to admit to herself just how much she likes her.

Even for Waverly - who had spent her early life avoiding quite a few uncomfortable truths - certain things were becoming hard to deny.

She has perhaps a little too much admiration for Nicole’s near-regal jawline and her beautiful bone structure for it to be entirely objective or projective. She is not, as she has thought in the past of some women, admiring or wishing to be like a beautiful woman.

She spends too long wondering on Nicole’s personal life, she seeks contact too much. Now, when she is not in San Junipero, she allows herself little fantasies and daydreams in which she and Nicole find unnecessary reasons for fleeting touches.

She is starting to understand it, but it is like she is waiting for some kind of earthquake to really and truly confirm that things have shifted somewhere beneath the surface.   

 

 

 

 

 

The first inkling that something else is not quite right - this time in the outside world - comes in late September.

Waverly was frozen in stasis but not entirely oblivious, and it had been obvious for a week or so that something was amiss with Wynonna.

Of course, something was always amiss and that _something_ is Waverly’s state of health. But there was the version of Wynonna who was always in a low-level state of turmoil, and then there was a version of Wynonna who was preoccupied by even more.

This latter was the Wynonna who had been visiting Waverly for days and days.

That she was even at the hospital every day was sign enough.

It had been a long time since she had turned up so frequently, because after Waverly had been admitted there was still a curse and then, importantly, there was Alice.

Waverly did not expect Wynonna to come by every day and, to a degree, she did not want her to. Of course, she was lonely on the days when no one visited. Of course, it was a sad and frustrating set of circumstances. But in many ways it was no better to know that someone was simply whiling their own days away sat in silence on a fraying, poorly upholstered chair (as was the primary charge levelled against the hospital’s furniture).

Sometimes, this was all a double-edged sword.

She missed visits from the likes of Chrissy or even Doc, the ones who could not seem to bring themselves to attend too often, what with the sadness of it all. But when they came, they could stay for an age filling her in - they had something to say, they did not have to lapse into silence.

So even if Wynonna would never dream of stopping by less than three or four times a week, it was not normal - or especially enjoyable - for her to do so every day.

As such, Waverly knew long before Wynonna said anything that something was on her sister’s mind. But it is not until a quiet Wednesday morning that Waverly actually discovers the problem.

There is a soft sound of light rain pattering on the window when Wynonna announces herself, and Waverly hears her drop something - her bag, presumably - to the ground as she sits down rather heavily.

There is a rather protracted silence, until Wynonna audibly inhales in a deep, steadying way and simply says -

“So.”

That is all, for a moment. Wynonna is bracing herself and trying to order her thoughts. Waverly does not have to see or even hear her sister to know that - it is always this way when Wynonna tries to begin an important conversation.

Waverly feels a thrill of nerves. She cannot say that she really has a clue what this might be about. If it were bad news about her own health, she does not think Wynonna would have waited so long. She _knows_ Wynonna would not have waited so long to tell her something about Alice, or the rest of the family.

It must be something significant, but Waverly can think of nothing or no one else significant anymore. There is only one exception, and Wynonna knows nothing about her. That thought alone makes Waverly’s heart hurt.

After a silence that feels close to torturous, Wynonna tries again.

“Dolls says that, by now, you’ll know something is up with me visiting so much. He says I have to talk about it and let you know where we’re at.”

There is another pause, accompanied by the sound of Wynonna thrumming her nails against some hard surface or another.

“Some of the BBD scientists and the doctors here have been talking to me over the last couple of weeks,” Wynonna announces. “About San Junipero.”

The nerves in Waverly stomach intensify with an ugly twist. Her first thought is that her time on the test programme is over, and the idea is unbearable. She can see how such a small dose of something so good could cause adjustment issues, because the possibility that she might now be denied even five hours of time in the city sends her into a spiral.

She cannot lose that little spark of hope and she cannot lose Nicole either, not when she was just starting to realise something so important about their connection.

“I don’t really understand it all,” Wynonna goes on. “But the doctors have been doing some fancy tests because you’re doing the trial. They’ve blinded me with science a bit, but it’s something to do with brain activity - I was adamant they had to look into it. Because we can’t - y’know…”

Here, Wynonna pauses and clears her throat. Waverly hears her biting down on a raw edge of emotion, taking time until she is somewhat in charge of herself again.

“Because you can’t tell us how you’re getting on, they can’t do the regular psych stuff. All they can do is kind of check what your brain signals are saying instead. Whatever they’re telling the people in white coats - they’re reading into it positively. They won’t commit to actually saying there’s evidence that you’re happy when you’re there, because bureaucracy blah blah blah…

“They’re covering their asses, basically. But they’ve alluded that you’re happ _ier_. Or that there’s evidence to posit such a theory.” At this last sentence, Wynonna alters her voice, obviously imitating someone Waverly did not know.

As a silent observer, Waverly always wishes she could participate. But there have been a number of standout, gut-wrenching moments when Waverly had thought she might implode entirely because she could not say something back.

This conversation instantly becomes one of them.

She could feel the strain within her, almost as if her brain itself was stretching for something more. She wants to tell Wynonna that she is finding happiness as best she can, that it is not what she would have imagined but that it is still good.

She had been coming to that conclusion for herself recently, and she wishes she could share it with her sister.

It was all in something Nicole had said to her weeks ago. They had been speaking at the park and Waverly had tried to brush off the simplicity of her past life, riddled with the sense that she had not achieved anything even before Mictian. Nicole had asked her whether she had liked her work in at Shorty’s, whether Waverly had been happy in her own way.

Nicole had not wanted to hear about others’ standards - she had wanted Waverly’s standard.

Waverly had been forced to consider it strongly, admitting eventually that she did love parts of that old life. It was not something retrospective, either. She had loved her life with Gus even at the time - she had adored spending the time with her when they worked at Shorty’s. Waverly might not have moved anywhere by her twenties, but she would not have had the time with her family if she had.

_“Well, there you go then,” Nicole had said, wearing a knowing and gentle smile. “Happiness is a lot to show for any number of years - no matter how you find it.”_

In time, ‘happiness is a lot to show’ had become like a mantra for Waverly. For a long time she had had nothing; no light, no hope, and certainly no happiness. Committing emotionally to San Junipero still felt like a betrayal of the people she loved at home, but it no longer felt that she was leaving the real world behind for something fake.

There were still niggling doubts at the back of her mind regarding the virtual nature of San Junipero; of course she had wondered, the first few times, whether Nicole was even a real person or just a part of some string of computer code.

But now, even though she had no concrete evidence to back her up, Waverly believed in her heart that Nicole was real. There was too much spirit in her and too much life between them to believe anything else. After all, there would not be guidebooks and warnings about divulging information, if the people - person, really - she was speaking to were not quote-unquote _real_.

Because, in addition to the other lessons San Junipero was teaching her, Waverly was also starting to learn that reality was a tenuous concept, and even more so that happiness truly _was_ a lot to show in any kind of reality.

So while she would never have picked this path, she knows that she is happy and that she does not have to second-guess it. She does not have to overthink it. So many things would be better if all of this had not happened; on balance _more_ would be right. But she would likely not have Nicole, either. And that really is a lot to show for life.

Still, she would pay almost any price to tell her sister all of this. Wynonna can never know the journey Waverly has been on to get here - there is no solution to this unless Waverly can wake up. She just wishes Wynonna could _know_. She wishes Wynonna could find peace too.

Wynonna knows nothing of this, however, as she finally resumes her speech.

“They’ve started talking to me about changing things up a bit,” she says, and for the briefest of moments Waverly feels her world start to slip out from beneath her.

Then, Wynonna clarifies.

“They think you’d be a good candidate for the next tier. They think you should have more time there.”

Waverly cannot remember the last time her emotions had flipped around in such a sharp one-eighty. Her immediate, unconscious reaction is one of unbridled joy - grand designs of more time in the city, more time in her own apartment, more time with Nicole unfolding in front of her.

But still there is that tiny barb of guilt in her belly, the one that reminds her to think of her real family above all else. If she is in San Junipero she cannot be mentally present here when her loved ones visit. The momentary doubt is compounded by the note of hesitation in Wynonna’s voice. It is subtle, but it is enough to tell Waverly that Wynonna is not necessarily keen on the idea.

“I have to make the decision,” Wynonna says, and Waverly hates that there is no one else. Gus had ceded that responsibility to Wynonna as she herself had aged, worried as she was that anything could happen to her at any time, leaving a horrible legal mess surrounding next of kin rights if it did. Waverly assumes that Wynonna consults Gus and seeks her advice, but the ultimate responsibility is the heir’s alone.

“I hope you won’t hate me babygirl but I need more time. I know you’re smart and super kind, I know you’ll get it because if I deny you happiness in this place then that’s unforgivable. But all I have is some scientist telling me it’s a nice place, so what if I’m trapping you there instead? I need to do my research - I wasn’t even going to tell you right away, but Dolls…”

Waverly thinks back to Dolls’ last solo visit. He had said even then, weeks ago, that Wynonna was spending too much time online. Waverly does not want her sister to waste even more of her life doing so.

There is no solution, however. There is no way for Waverly to use her voice and actually _tell_ Wynonna that it is okay to give her more time in San Junipero.

Waverly had never been one to give up before all of this. But years stuck in one place had taught her that some things simply did not have a solution and that sometimes, fighting was just a drain on your energy. She had learned, too late perhaps, what it meant to pick your battles. And this battle - the battle to communicate with anyone here - was one she could not win right now.

And while she could never begrudge her sister anything, much less the time to make an important decision, Waverly can only wait and hope she comes to the right conclusion.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Not Saturday, 2017**

 

_‘We both want to keep you,’ whispers Mictian._

_‘You’re never going back now,’ adds the other one._

_Waverly would beg, but her voice is no longer her own._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Not Saturday, 2023**

 

Waverly awakes in what she senses to be the dead of night, body thrumming and chest gasping in every sense but a physical one.

The hospital is completely still; no radios, no televisions, and only a tiny buzz of chatter from a faraway nurses’ station.

It takes Waverly a while to work out what had startled her, what had left her feeling as thought she was torn apart at the seams.

And even with all her recent confusion between dreams and real events, there is no denying that the image that comes to her was from a dream.

There is no mistaking this for reality, even if it felt all too real to her now in the aftermath. Her subconscious had been playing tricks on her and the memory of what it had shown her was almost too much to grapple with.

That is to say, it was ethereal and formless, otherworldly and too distant and mutable for her conscious mind to truly touch. It was the image of Nicole above her, red hair swinging at her chin and cheeks flushed pink. Nicole, bare-chested with her lips at Waverly’s throat and her hands on every part of Waverly’s skin they could reach.

Waverly feels her body react accordingly to the image of it, repeated and dissected in a way she had not been able to do in her dreams.

Waverly feels the heat of it in her veins, the sensation of a million questions finding the same singular answer.

 

 

 

 

 

That image of Nicole stays with Waverly indefinitely, leaving her feeling both embarrassed and afire at the same time.

For a few hours the next day, she lets herself live in denial. There are any number of explanations for what had happened - it didn’t necessarily have to mean anything.

First and foremost, it _had_ been a good long while since, well…

And dreams are just dreams. They don’t have to mean anything. (Never mind the way her brain and body kept lighting up at the memory of it).

Plus, Nicole was the first person to really connect with Waverly in half a decade, and San Junipero 101 stated that making strong attachments was an obvious reaction. Psych analyses cautioned people against overthinking relationships in that world - they had surely anticipated people falling or misreading their own feelings. Waverly had been told all of this by a dry, reedy-sounding man who had visited and given her a one-sided psychiatric consultation, to which she could not offer her own perspective.

But the truth of the matter was that Waverly could not keep making excuses for this. Moreso, she does not want to live in denial about this.

There is no reason to do so; this realisation is not a bad one and it is not something to hide from.  

True, Waverly had thought every instance of yearning had been nonspecific - that she had been seeking any touch, and not one that originated from Nicole. True, she had maybe been a little naive. And yes, maybe she had always known deep down that she had the capacity to feel for women everything she also felt for men.

But unconventional circumstances notwithstanding, she had never connected with anyone like she had connected with Nicole - excepting only Wynonna herself. No one else could make her feel so at ease, no one else had ever left her feeling like it was okay just to be herself. There had never been such an easy confidence resting in her bones when she had been around anyone else. With others there had been masks and excuses; ways to dress up her dead father and missing mother, ways to avoid associations with a murder house or a demon’s curse. With Nicole there was only freedom; freedom to be herself and be accepted as such.

Who could blame her, then, for not realising it right away?

Every part of her relationship with Nicole had been out of the ordinary, right from day one.

It didn’t help either that she had only ever dated Champ, and that relationship had hardly been a model one. Champ had pursued her for months when they were both pretty much just kids, and Waverly had not known that she was actually allowed to not reciprocate. It had not occurred to her, largely because she was reeling at receiving attention at school that did not involve her last name and its legacy.

In truth, Champ had not wanted her because he liked her for her. He had hardly known a thing about her. He had wanted her because her puberty had been kind on her, and he was hoping it might be kind on him too.

But Purgatory had had a small dating pool, and a non-existent dating pool for those looking to date someone of the same gender. Robin, the sole gay person any of them had known, left town as soon as he could, and Waverly could not say if he had come back.

Waverly had not looked further, because there were no bigger horizons in Purgatory.

Even now, she felt no great desire to redefine herself. Maybe one day in the future she would, but right now her life was in far too much flux for that.

All she knew was that at thirteen she had really, really wanted to kiss Ryan Ervin (and, at fourteen, she had done just that) and at sixteen she liked Champ (for reasons even she struggled to articulate), and now she liked Nicole (for more reasons than she certainly _could_ articulate in spades).

 _She liked Nicole_.

It was a relief to finally admit it to herself.

She had thought it was just contact for the sake of it. She had put it all down to being so painfully lonely for so long. And to an extent, that must have been the case. But Waverly’s loneliness had only ever masked the reality of it, a reality which had now been confirmed.

The feeling of wanting was specific to Nicole too.

But with the realisation, the acceptance, and even - dare she think it - the excitement of it all, there was also a modicum of self-doubt. Waverly has to force herself to put the brakes on slightly.

Undeniably, Nicole had sought Waverly out on that very first night to flirt. Undeniably, she had flirted on many occasions since. But recently, that undercurrent seemed to have evened out.

The odd comment still surfaced now and then, but in truth it was not the same. It was like something in Nicole had shifted and the status quo had settled with it. If she had ever viewed Waverly in anything other than a platonic way, Nicole no longer acted upon it in quite the same way.

More than that, Waverly had no sense of whether she could or even should act upon her own realisation.

She does not want to jeopardise things with Nicole, because Waverly does not have anyone else in San Junipero and even if there is a whole city of potential friends out there, Nicole is not replaceable.

Perhaps there is - always has been - room for others too, just as Waverly had wished she could share Nicole with Rosita and Jeremy. But it did not mean that she would risk losing her ties to Nicole over something so new to her as a crush on a woman.

She could not bear the thought of things becoming awkward or stilted between them, and she certainly did not want to picture how embarrassing it would be to make a confession only for things not to be reciprocated.

Waverly worries that Nicole could misread everything and think that Waverly is either trying to experiment, or sees her as the only option now they are in San Junipero. That was not the case of course - but Nicole wasn’t to know that.

She pictures the toe-curling embarrassment of Nicole rejecting her, confused as to why Waverly might have thought she stood a chance in the first place. Worse still, she thinks of Nicole letting her down gently because that is the kind of person Nicole is.

 _No_ , Waverly decides. _Things are good as they are. It’s better to let sleeping dogs lie._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2015  
**Visit 11.0****

 

Thinking that she should simply let sleeping dogs lie, however, was far easier said than done.

She had turned up in her apartment to find her cell phone ringing, Nicole already on the other end like any time not spent together might be a waste.

“Keen much?” Waverly asks as soon as she answers, trying to force herself not to overthink every small turn of phrase. It is a joke. It is exactly the kind of joke the Waverly from one week ago would have made. In fact, pre-realisation, pre-embarrassing sex dream Waverly would have been cautiously pleased with the effort.

“Hi to you too,” Nicole says. Waverly can hear her smiling. “Did you look out the window yet?”

“Well, given that I arrived a whole ten seconds ago and I immediately stopped to answer my phone - let me see. No I haven’t looked out of the window.”

“In some places they call it a mobile phone,” Nicole says without missing a beat. “It’s because you can be mobile with your phone. Pretty groundbreaking stuff, really.”

“ _Smartass_ ,” Waverly says, making her way to the edge of the room.

“Hey, you leave my ass out of this.”

 _Would that I could_ , a voice in Waverly’s head says as her mind wanders to the body part in question. It was almost as though she had opened the floodgates, now that she had given herself permission to think of a woman in this way. Not that she is being especially lascivious - just that any attraction of this kind had been brushed under the rug; diminished and explained away before now.

Playfully impatient, Nicole says, “well?”

“I’m going now, jeez. Are you just trying to tell me that the weather is shit?”

Already she can tell that it is a gloomy day by the half-hearted, grey quality of the light spilling through the glass. When she looks out, however, she can see that it is raining. By the looks of things, the weather has been in all day.

They had planned to take a walk through the forest - Waverly’s first since arriving in San Junipero.

It was only last week that Nicole had realised that Waverly had not yet been, and she had taken it as something of a personal failure.

“I’m guessing you don’t feel like an all-weather trek?”

Waverly hesitates. Nicole would probably still go, even in a light rain. Nicole _wants_ to go - she always talks about her old hiking trips.

Waverly is tempted to say that she likes the sound of all-weather, but it would be a lie. For some strange and inexplicable reason, this makes her think of Champ. She thinks of the _‘yes I’d love to watch you play video games_ ’ and the ‘ _yes I’d much rather hang out at Shorty’s with you and the guys_ ’.

This is an entirely different kettle of fish, but still she does not think Nicole would like it. She does not think Nicole deserves it, either - to be treated as Waverly treated Champ.

That being said, Waverly also has not felt the rain on her skin in five years…

“I’m not sure it’s entirely my thing, even if it’s been a while since I went out in the rain,” Waverly admits, hoping Nicole does not pick up on this admission that Waverly cannot go outside. She does not think she is ready to try and explain things. She can hardly start throwing talk of demons around, but she doesn't really want to lie, either. “But if you want to go, of course I’ll still come.”

“I kind of want us to go soon,” Nicole says, displaying an uncharacteristically fixed opinion on their plans. Even when she has specifically wanted to take Waverly somewhere she has always been entirely flexible. “But the woods aren’t going anywhere and it looks like it’s really gonna come down later. Let’s just do nothing instead.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You haven’t seen my place yet, so you could do that - if you want? It’s a rainy Saturday, those are pretty much made for movies and takeout right? We can order something once you’re here. Unless you just want to chill where you are. Promise I won’t take offence.”

Still, the creeping curiosity of a solitary night in San Junipero is not tempting enough to keep her away from Nicole.

“I’d love to see your place - it’s pretty much been the best kept secret of the century. I almost started to get offended.”

“Aw, you big baby.”

“I’m serious. I’m worried you might even give me wrong directions to throw me off the scent.”

It is true that Nicole has said very little about her own accommodation, but in fairness Waverly had only asked a few perfunctory questions. Apparently, Nicole had a little house by the coast, and at first Waverly ventures to feign offence that Nicole had found herself with an entire house. But the truth is that she likes her apartment a lot; it speaks about her in its layout and its contents, and she has long harboured an unspoken desire to know what Nicole’s home might say.

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole’s directions are sound, although she simply has to cite a particular bus route.

“Get off after about the sixth stop. I’ll be there so look for me.”

And true to her word Nicole is waiting - standing beneath a shelter at a remote stop - in a deep, forest green sweater and black jeans. She has buried her hands in her pockets while she waits, looking strangely preoccupied.

Waverly had gotten her fix of revelling in the rain on her way to the bus, and by the time she steps outside again the weather has temporarily dried up, even if it remains gloomy. Angry, pewter clouds still sit on the horizon, threatening more precipitation to come.

Deliberately splashing through a shallow puddle, Waverly greets Nicole as she normally would -  with a hug and a smile - but notes that Nicole’s demeanour is slightly hollow in return.

There is nothing specific per sé, only that she seems slightly withdrawn and less easy with her smiles. On anyone else, Nicole’s attitude would still be a good look - she chatters easily, she hugs boldly - but there is still something wrong. Because if Nicole is the summer sun, then even the tiniest bit of cloud can cast a shadow.

Still, it goes unmentioned as they wander away from the bus station and further from the city. The woods loom above them - closer than Waverly has ever seen them - and eventually houses and roads peter away until she and Nicole are treading a slim, worn footpath.

“Do you literally have a cabin in the woods?” Waverly jokes and Nicole chuckles - a welcome sound.

“Not quite, but I’m not complaining.”

Waverly glances around at the scenery as signs of all settlement retreat in favour of a ravaged-looking coastline. Waverly can see a craggy, unpopulated beach which is punctuated by sporadic rock formations peppered over the sand. Eventually, they become denser and turn first to a solid rock face and then to the steep cliffs that hold up the forest. Unsurprisingly, tourists have eschewed this corner of the coast in favour of the more easily accessible, more picturesque beaches. But this is breathtaking in an entirely different way. This is wild and untamed; of course it is where Nicole has made her home.

The footpath is uneven, and there is a stretch of little weeds and huge clumps of marram grass growing in the place where earth mingles with sand. Like the inverse concept of a moat - land forming a barrier to the ocean - the long grass occupies the no man’s land between dirt track and beach.

“In fact,” Nicole goes on after a few beats of silence, “I’ve been excited to show you this place - all jokes aside. I haven’t been able to share it with anyone yet. Or, I suppose, I’ve chosen not to.”

She smiles, first to herself and then she turns her grin towards Waverly. “But there’s actually no one else I’d want to invite here first.”

Her smile throws Waverly for a loop momentarily and all she can do is beam back in what is probably a daft, moony expression.

“I’m honoured,” Waverly says eventually, and it could have been their usual brand of banter but instead her words come out soft and sweet. She means her response genuinely, and she can see that Nicole is delighted with it.

“The only thing is that it’s a bit out of the way,” Nicole says. “Which works just fine for me, but it’s hardly a great meeting point.”

As it turns out, _a bit out of the way_ is the most understated way Nicole could have described what turns out to be an isolated but entirely quaint and stereotypical little beach cottage.

Her home sits mere feet away from the edge of the sand, at a point far too secluded for even the highest Spring tide to touch.

Upon seeing it, Waverly does not hold back but reacts with as much delighted incredulity as might be expected, and it makes Nicole laugh.

“Nicole, this is _amazing_ ,” Waverly declares as she explores an ample but sparsely decorated living room.

The sparseness still somehow manages to be comforting in its own way, though. There is a plush, faux-suede couch in a warm, chocolatey brown; green-blue details not dissimilar in colour to Nicole’s sweater; a thick cream rug atop distressed wooden floorboards. It is pure, uncomplicated simplicity in the warmest way possible - it is _Nicole_.

Once Waverly’s excitement dims slightly, Nicole suggests a takeout - which is, apparently, a thing in San Junipero - and they pour over a couple of menus before Nicole makes an order for Chinese.

While they wait, they sit on the couch, and for once it is Nicole who seems to chase contact between them.

She sits close and as much as Waverly delights in the gesture, it also makes her temperature rise slightly.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.  

“I’m sorry, I’m being bad company aren’t I?” Nicole asks, after a pause that would normally have been filled with easy banter.

“You’re never bad company,” Waverly says earnestly. “It’s just that I know something is wrong.”

“It’s nothing really,” Nicole replies, evidently trying to downplay whatever is at the heart of the matter. After a pointed look from Waverly, however, she grins and spreads her palms. “Okay, okay. Sorry. It’s just been a bad week with the doctors. I told myself I wouldn’t bring it here but I guess I failed.”

“I’m so sorry,” Waverly says, her heart hurting for Nicole. Her own stagnation was awful in its own way, but so was another bad prognosis. “Is there something I can do?

“I don’t think so. I’m just happy for the company. I guess I’m just feeling needier than expected.”

“Hey,” Waverly says, laying her hand over Nicole’s. The latter proceeds to tangle their fingers together. “You’re allowed to feel down about it. I forget that myself too, sometimes. But we’re both allowed to be down about it.”

Nicole tries valiantly for a smile - this first one that has ever failed to sit properly on her pretty face.

“I just thought I’d got to a point where I’d accepted how things were. I think I’m more disappointed that I was wrong, and that it can still throw me for a loop.”

“You’re also allowed to be fallible,” Waverly says wryly and this finally earns a proper laugh from Nicole. The sound washes over her like the autumn rain from earlier, and Waverly considers that there is little she would not do to win that laughter.

They talk over it a little more and, with some metaphorical (or so Waverly assumes) demons exorcised, Nicole quickly cheers.

Waverly knows that sometimes it really is a case of shelving the problems until another time, a time when they are not on the clock and counting down the seconds of their emancipation from sickness and strife.

“Thanks,” Nicole says when the conversation peters out, her next smile shifting into something fond and familiar.

“Any time,” Waverly replies. “So long as it’s Saturday between the hours of seven and midnight.”

Again, Nicole laughs and if that thought is actually a slightly sad one, they are both done with feeling down for now.

Their food arrives shortly after, delivered altogether too quickly to be believable especially given their remote location, but the show of a takeout delivery scratches an itch for realism.

It is only after they have laid out the food on Nicole’s coffee table and settled into the first half hour of _The Martian_ that Waverly remembers something she had wanted to tell Nicole. She lays down her sweet and sour veg for a moment.

“This is probably super weird but I wanted to say that I dreamed about you and San Junipero a couple of nights this week.”

(Of course, she has no intention of confessing certain dreams - just the mundane ones).

“You did?” Nicole asks, eyebrows raised as Waverly nods. “Anything nice?”

“Just the usual San Junipero stuff.” (It is almost true). “But all nice.”

This is not true either - there had been the weird half-nightmare that they were being chased, and the sad, slightly haunting fantasy of Nicole meeting Wynonna. But all Nicole needs to know is that mostly, it had been nice for Waverly to be visited in her sleep by the memory of the two of them together.

“Seems like a big milestone,” Nicole says, sounding thoughtful. “San Junipero reaching subconscious status.”

“I thought the same,” Waverly says and then, because Nicole is still quiet and contemplative she asks, “you don’t think it’s weird, do you?”

Quick as a flash, Nicole pulls herself out of whatever thought process had been bogging her down and she gives Waverly a deep, earth-shattering look.

“No, it’s not. Not at all. Truth be told Waverly, I dream about you too.”

 

 

 

 

 

Throughout the course of the night, they drift closer on the couch and Waverly forces herself not to fixate on _I dream about you too_.

Nicole’s choice of words had felt intentional, the way she looked at Waverly even more so.

Not _I had a dream about you once_ but **_I dream about you_ **.

Waverly wants that to mean something, but the last few years have taught her to look more closely before she leaps. And while her feelings for Nicole had thus far been more of a case of unintentionally and obliviously falling rather than actively leaping, she was in freefall either way.

So she falls back on her secondary mantra - to let sleeping dogs lie, even if Nicole doesn’t make it easy.

She wordlessly disappears to find Waverly a blanket when the first evening chill sets in, and eventually she steals a corner of it for herself too.

Waverly sits with her legs curled under her while Nicole props her feet on the coffee table once it is cleared, and their varying positions make it easier to slot together.

Eventually what they are doing can only be called cuddling, with Waverly still curled up and pressed into Nicole’s side. By the time Mark Watney sets out for Pathfinder, Waverly simply throws herself all in and rests her head on Nicole’s shoulder.

A moment or two later, Nicole drops her cheek to Waverly’s crown.

On the television, the hexadecimal chart surfaces.

In the room, their hands brush under the blanket unintentionally. Waverly freezes and Nicole does not move her hand away. Instead, her thumb finds the back of Waverly’s hand and it drifts back and forth without ceasing.

With her eyes fixed firmly on the television, Waverly considers how close they are.

It would be so, unspeakably easy to stretch up and kiss Nicole.

Lord, Waverly wants to kiss her.

She had not needed any further confirmation, but if she had then this was it.

She wants to feel Nicole’s mouth against hers, wants the soft skin of Nicole’s face and neck beneath her hands.

But she does not know if Nicole wants that back. Admittedly, it feels that this is where they are heading - more so tonight than ever before.

 _But_ , Waverly reasons to herself, _is this only because I’ve suddenly understood my feelings_?  

After whatever bad prognosis had happened this week, Waverly can feel Nicole’s desire for comfort and contact bubbling at the surface. She thinks if she offered, Nicole might accept tonight. But the question is whether Nicole would accept on any other night and that is what throws Waverly off.

She does not want to think about what her feelings really are - of course she cannot consider wanting a relationship with a woman she has met in San Junipero. She doubts that is even possible. But even so, she does not want to put them in a position where closeness between them is only about kissing and touching away the sadness of their other lives.

They had discussed that so candidly on their second night, and Waverly cannot say either of them had arrived at any favourable conclusions about it all.

Besides, that has never been the basis of their connection before now, and Waverly does not want that to change.

At any rate, the clock makes her mind up for her because it is already past half eleven, and there is never, ever enough time between them.

(Now more than ever, Waverly tries not to consider a world where she is given more time in San Junipero too).

Rather than acting recklessly, she instead casts desperately about for a topic of conversation.

“I always loved the eighties vibe in this,” she says out of nowhere, voice a little desperate in her attempts to feign a casual tone.

Nicole seems to pick up on this and she grins, showing off her pointed canines. Waverly stares, desirous and determined to be devoured at any cost.

“Aren’t you even a little tempted to go back there?”

“Sure,” Waverly says, swallowing. “Of course I am.”

“So? Let’s do it sometime. Doesn’t have to be next week but soon, I guess,” Nicole says and Waverly tries not to frown as she listens. There it is again, that little undertone of urgency in Nicole’s voice - one that has never been present before. There seems to be no explanation for it but it is a far cry from the tone Waverly is used to between them.

Perhaps against her better judgement, Waverly does not mention it.

“Sure, let’s go back there.”

“Okay,” Nicole says, eyes soft and affectionate. “So tell me when you want to try.”

They choose 1987. There is no basis for the decision and no immediate plan to go there, but they both know it isn’t the point of the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do like some good hurt/comfort so let's hope you guys do too bc hey...it's a San Junipero AU after all.
> 
> How did you find Waverly's revelation? And Wynonna's for that matter? I'd love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> Social media -  
> stan twitter: rositabustiiios  
> tumblr: birositabustillos  
> ko-fi: www.ko-fi.com/alissawrites
> 
> Until next time!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly and Nicole come to a little precipice, but how much closer can their souls drift before they fall together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> I can’t believe this is the first Tuesday I almost lost track of my days (nooo idea what day I thought it was, but shit did catch fire at work first thing this morning and everything has kind run at a metaphorical equivalent of an office fire since then, so I can’t be blamed). At any rate, I just about remembered, and am here with what might have been my favourite chapter of this fic to write. I love these two soft sapphics. 
> 
> One thing I did forget last week was the playlist. I’ve added it now and miraculously remembered this week’s, which is here: https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/3bV6UNyBT7Im7lBI8VBj9u?si=kwBt1VwyQ_CvNZfnrsNS0Q 
> 
> Thank you sooo much to everyone for leaving such kind comments on the last chapter, it really does help so much when I’m writing (I’m onto the next AU atm, and perhaps it’s extra cheesy and fluffy to make up the angst in this one...I’m just sayin).

**Saturday. 2014.  
 **Visit 12.0****

 

“One thing I’ve always liked about stuff like this,” Nicole says, breathing deeply between her words, “is that it’s kind of timeless. Does that make sense? Like even just a little bit?”

Focussing on her own breathing, Waverly thinks that it would make a lot more sense if she weren’t concentrating on her feet so much. 

“I think so?”

Nicole looks over her shoulder, meeting Waverly’s eye. “You’re just humouring me, aren’t you?”

“Kind of, sorry,” Waverly says, pulling an apologetic sort of expression. 

Nicole comes to a halt, letting Waverly catch up although she is only a few strides behind. She senses that maybe Nicole has set a pace that is vastly slower than normal for Waverly’s benefit. 

But, in fairness, it has been a while since she went hiking and she never liked it that much to begin with. 

Nicole likes it though, and that is all that matters in Waverly’s mind. 

She is working hard to ignore how easily she has fallen into the ‘it makes Nicole happy’ mindset, but even without too much conscious thought she knows it is different from Champ. Things between them feel mutual and on even ground - Champ had only ever taken and taken, making Waverly miss her Valedictorian speech for a video game challenge, one that hadn’t even involved showing Waverly much of anything.

By comparison, she was hiking through the woods right now because Nicole wanted to share the experience with Waverly and, somehow, that made all the difference. 

They had pencilled in their time travel to the eighties for a few week’s time, which had left them with a couple of visits to play by ear. Waverly had arrived to a late bout of summer sunshine and the knowledge that Nicole still wanted to show her the woods. 

Even though she had said very little about it the week before, there had been such a strange timbre to her voice when she had insisted that she and Waverly make the trip soon. Even after a week’s worth of consideration, Waverly still could not quite put her finger on why it bothered her. Nicole had spent the last three months making plans that were flexible and easily changeable, even if they often stuck with their ideas. 

Last week, she had wanted to arrange things more than a week in advance. Waverly had put it down to receiving bad news from the doctors, but even today Nicole had set a pace that felt almost urgent and desperate; like she had to show Waverly these things yesterday. 

Waverly cannot quite understand it, but she is too busy catching her breath right now to question it. 

Even with her subtle distaste for the idea of getting back to nature, she can at least concede that the forest is stunning. Unimaginably tall aspens rise up and up towards the sky, the canopies leaving only tiny chinks of blue visible. There are shorter, squatter pines peppered around too, their needles cast about on the ground like confetti. There are few early pinecones scattered about too, and Waverly had stopped to pick up a particularly large one earlier for almost no reason at all except that she could. 

Nicole watches as Waverly idly turns it over in her hands as she catches up and they both stand still and rest for a second. 

“Tell me,” Waverly says as they catch their breath and Nicole sends her a questioning look. “Tell me what you meant by it being timeless.” 

“Oh,” Nicole says, catching on. She turns her gaze towards the trees and worn footpaths, eyes glancing at the way they are studded with odd rocks and wayward tree roots. “Whenever I’d go walking or camping, I’d always just be struck by how - out in the forests or the mountains - time isn’t really a thing? Obviously I don’t know what it was like a hundred years ago but it feels like nothing has changed. Like I could be walking in the 1800s or 2020 or maybe even the twenty-fifth century. It’s kind of nice to think that even after everything else has gone that stuff like this will still be there.” Nicole gestures at the trees before wrinkling her nose and speaking again.

“Sorry, it probably sounds stupid. But I think it matters even more to me now than it ever did. We’re walking in these woods and it’s meant to be 2014 but our other selves are in 2023 and the forests still feel like they did when I was eleven and camping with my family in 2002.”

“That stuff screws with my head,” Waverly says, joining Nicole in looking around at their surroundings. “But you’re right, it does feel like it could be any time right now. I can see why you like it.” 

She means this genuinely, but instead it makes Nicole pull another face and apologise again.

“Sorry, I know this probably isn’t much fun for you. I promise I won’t keep you here all night,” she says and starts walking again. “The quicker we get there the quicker we can get back again.” 

Nicole manages to make this sound humorous, but it does not stop Waverly’s heart from twisting a little.

She trots along to meet Nicole’s stride and walk in step. 

“There’s no rush,” she says gently, clutching the pinecone in one hand and touching the other against Nicole’s forearm for a moment. “We can spend all evening here. If you love it - then I want to see it.” 

Nicole turns her head sharply to Waverly, picking up on the weight in Waverly’s voice. 

She wants to kick herself. She has been getting careless in the way she speaks.

“Yeah?” Nicole asks, voice heavy and eyes searching.

“Of course,” Waverly says, mentally reminding herself to play it a bit cooler. “So long as we’re hanging out, right?” 

Perhaps she plays it a little too cool then because Nicole turns her head again to watch the path. 

“Yeah, right.” 

 

 

 

 

 

They lapse into silence again as they walk. 

Waverly can recognise that it is not a particularly trying route, but she is out of practice and at some points even Nicole’s breathing grows a little deeper. 

It gives Waverly time to reflect, and it seems a lot nicer to do so when she is free to move and take in her surroundings. 

Even so, all she has done all week is think. 

Mostly, it has been about Nicole - about her feelings towards Nicole. 

It felt like something shifted between them last week. Even Waverly, worried as she was that her feelings were clouding her judgement, could not deny it.

Because once she had acknowledged that she was not thinking of Nicole in an entirely platonic way, it had become hard to focus on much else. 

It fascinates Waverly, how quickly these feelings bubble up when, barely a fortnight ago, she had still been telling herself she was straight. Of course, there had been obvious signs she had shelved for years prior to Mictian taking her, but she had truly and genuinely considered those things to be incidental before meeting Nicole. 

Even Nicole’s overt flirting in the early days hadn’t quite done the trick. Waverly had admitted she was flattered and had known in her heart that it was quite the opposite of a negative experience, to be thought of in that way by someone as desirable as Nicole. But even after that, even after understanding that Nicole was desirable, it had still taken something more. 

She cannot even say for sure what flipped the switch, but now that the light between her ribs was shining outwards once more Waverly felt like she was sixteen again. In fact, she felt  _ better _ than when she was sixteen because this felt more real than any crush she had ever had as a schoolkid. 

Waverly could not quite fathom it: a crush in a place like San Junipero as more  _ real _ than anything she had felt in what, four months ago, she had thought of as the ‘real world’. Indeed, four months ago, it was the only world she knew. 

Now there was a whole life packaged up into a Saturday night - almost like a life within a life, just like that old movie  _ Inception _ . She almost wants to spin a coin and see what happens, but the thought sort of freaks her out. Plus, it is not this sort of detail she is interested in anymore when it comes to San Junipero. They are background noise now, all the little details that remind Waverly that this place is  _ different _ .

By now, she is far more interested in the way Nicole looks as she walks, the way she seems in complete and total harmony with the forest. Waverly is interested in the reverent way Nicole regards her surroundings, especially when she thinks Waverly is not looking. 

Waverly is interested, too, in the slight glimmer of sweat at the back of Nicole’s neck; in the strain of the muscles in her thighs, visible even through her grey jeans. 

Learning how it felt to be melded to Nicole’s side, cuddled close on a couch had been both a blessing and a curse. Because Waverly had been powerless to do much else but replay that moment over and over all week. 

Even if Nicole’s overt flirting had muted itself slowly over time, it still felt like a fire. There were no more flames licking at the hearth, but neither had the coals been doused out to nothing. Instead they had burnt down to the embers, glowing steadily and maybe even ready for further kindling. 

But to what end could either of them fan the flames back into life? What would be the point if they had five hours between them per week?

And still, despite all of this, Waverly wants her. She wants Nicole so _ desperately _ . 

She wants to know what it feels like to kiss her, what it is to be held by her, what Nicole’s hands could do against her skin... 

The way they had come together last week hadn’t felt platonic. Perhaps Waverly had read a little too much into it given her recent revelations, but even a middle ground stance would be that they had skirted perilously close to a boundary line in their relationship.

She has spent hours this past week wondering if her lack of reciprocity during earlier visits to San Junipero had put paid to anything but friendship between them. Nicole has probably just assumed that this is the nature of their relationship and has respected and adapted to Waverly’s boundaries. 

Waverly’s heart beats all the faster at that thought. Because even though it seems like a fairly simple thing, it is not something Waverly is used to people doing for her. 

But now, she wonders if her own obliviousness has curbed the chance for either of them to act on what they are feeling. 

After these thoughts, she had then proceeded to spend even more hours wondering if she actually  _ wants _ anything more than friendship. 

Friendship with Nicole in itself is a blessing. It is not a case that something different would necessarily equal something  _ more _ . What more could there be than spending this time with Nicole in any capacity? What more could there be than experiencing things together and sharing this special time with each other? What more than knowing that their hearts already had a single, shared story together now? 

Waverly had told herself this with conviction, then caught herself daydreaming for hours as she pictured impossible scenes of what her life could have been if she had only met Nicole before the demons had caught up with her. There is a different universe living beneath Waverly’s skin now, one where she and Nicole never needed San Junipero in the first place, and while it is a beautiful picture it is also painful to live with. 

She had even ventured to think that it might have been better to not have these feelings for Nicole at all, if she had to live with them knowing they would go nowhere. 

Because that was, in the end, the conclusion Waverly had arrived at regarding Nicole. 

Nicole had always seemed pragmatic and full of common sense - she had probably had the ability to nip all the flirting in the bud before it became feelings. She had probably known it was senseless to let it go this far in a place like San Junipero. That, Waverly truly believes after a week of deliberation, is why Nicole had taken a step back and settled so beautifully into friendship. 

And in her soul, Waverly knows that it is enough. But her mind pictures the alternative anyway, because it is traitorous and treacherous and it has been starved of these kinds of feelings and dreams for so, so long. 

“We’re nearly there,” Nicole says, mercifully oblivious to Waverly’s thoughts. She had not yet properly explained that there was an intended destination, but Waverly’s aching legs are glad to know that there is a rest stop nearby. 

Barely ten minutes later, the trees begin to thin out and the muffled quality of the forest shifts. Waverly can hear the driving crash of the ocean and understands that they have come to a cliff’s edge. 

Sure enough, the sky appears between the trees and at the very edge of the horizon it embraces the darker blue of the sea. 

“I just thought you’d maybe like to see the ocean this way too,” Nicole explains. “I wanted to be able to show it to you.” 

Captivated and speechless for a moment, Waverly braves a few further steps to the very edge of the cliff. It is not, perhaps, as steep a drop as she had imagined when looking out from the beaches but it is still enough to make her head spin slightly.

As with their trip to the roof, Waverly is still not entirely sure about heights. It is worth it though, to feel the spark of fear mingle in with the thrill of the view. Up here, the wind whips around them and the sea - so serene and pleasant over the sand - thrashes hard against the rocks below. 

Not for the first time, Waverly is struck by how much thought Nicole puts into almost everything she does, even as she behaves like it is mere second nature to her to care so much. 

“Thank you,” Waverly says, turning back to Nicole with her heart in her mouth. The chill of the breeze has paled Nicole’s skin, and her short hair has worked itself entirely loose as if it is desperate to dance in the air up here. Her big, brown eyes are fixed on Waverly and it is like she can see Waverly’s soul better than she can see her body. 

“I hope it was worth the hike,” Nicole says, grinning playfully and sending Waverly’s stomach into a somersault. 

She wonders how it could have taken her so long to realise. She steps closer, desperate to hold Nicole and hoping a ‘thank you’ hug isn’t too shoddy a cover story. 

“It’s like I said,” Waverly tells her as they come together. “So long as we’re spending time together.”

She hits the right note on her second attempt at conveying the sentiment, and she feels Nicole’s arms close tighter around her. 

It is not a scenario Waverly had ever imagined for herself: clinging to someone at the precipice of a cliff, their hair tumbling around them in the breeze and their words better expressed in the silence between their bodies. 

All the same, she pictures the two of them stood there in her mind’s eye and she thinks it probably looks wonderful. 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole had had the presence of mind to pack a thermos and a packet of cookies for them to share. 

“I know it’s technically still late summer,” she says as she pours them tea and hands Waverly a little reusable pot she has filled with soy milk, “but it can get chillier up here in the wind, so I figured why not bring tea?”

“It’s just what I needed,” Waverly says, blowing on her drink and taking a tentative sip. It is still a little hot and she tries not to flinch. 

She sets her cup down for a moment to cool, rolling her pinecone trophy absently on the ground where they are both sitting on the same blanket Nicole had brought to their first picnic together. Today, the light drains from the sky far more quickly and by nine o’clock it is pretty much dark. 

“Nearly fall now,” Nicole observes as the first few stars begin to twinkle. The night is set to be clear of clouds and it will be all the chillier for it. Waverly can feel the cold setting in already. 

“I’m not good with the winter,” Waverly says by way of aimless response. “I get too cold. I hate the dark and miss the sun.”

“I quite like the atmosphere of it sometimes,” Nicole tells her. “But I do prefer it when the weather doesn’t keep me cooped up or limit what it’s safe to do outdoors.”

“I will admit that lazy snowy or rainy days are nice sometimes though. It’s good to have an excuse to curl up and do nothing.” 

“Like last week,” Nicole says, her voice suggesting that she is in agreement. “That was nice.” 

“Really, really nice,” Waverly says, putting perhaps a little too much emphasis into her tone. She nudges Nicole’s foot with her own. “But this is nice too.” 

Nicole smiles, happy for the reassurance that Waverly is enjoying herself and not just humouring her with a trip into the wild. Ultimately, even if Waverly was not enjoying herself out amongst the trees, Nicole focussed so much time on activities Waverly might enjoy that she could never begrudge her the peace of the woods. 

Happily, though, she is very much enjoying herself.

“It’s always nice, isn’t it?” Nicole says with so much certainty that Waverly thinks she must have believed it for months. “Between us.”

Waverly believes it too. 

“Always,” she says, and the way that Nicole’s smile widens is perhaps enough to eclipse every other fantastic sight around them. They are in the midst of nature, but it would seem that Nicole is still the spectacle. 

 

 

 

 

 

As the darkness sets in, somehow their surroundings seem more magical. 

It feels different in a way Waverly can’t explain, to hear the sound of the ocean swell cutting through the still night air. 

Even in the light, there had been a special sort of hush here in the woods - the kind of quiet that seemed to come from the trees themselves. But the night adds something else too, it makes it seem like they are the only two people in the entire world. 

In that moment, Waverly would be happy if this were true. 

The city is somewhere behind them and so they cannot even see the lights shining out onto the sky. Instead, all is dark and calm. Nicole had already assured Waverly that she had brought flashlights and that she had chosen an easy path to follow home. It had been mostly incline on the way out, so Waverly could imagine that they would get themselves back to Nicole’s car with relative ease. 

More than that, she trusted Nicole to keep her safe - even if there was very little jeopardy out here. 

Some time during the evening, they had both ended up sprawled on their backs again. This time, there are no clouds to observe, but instead they can try to pick out the constellations. 

“I think that one is Orion,” Waverly says, squinting and trying to pick out some of the stars.

“Do you actually know anything about astronomy?” Nicole asks gently, but Waverly can feel her shoulders shaking with a bout of silent laughter.

“ _ No _ ,” Waverly says, slightly haughty. “But I’m trying my best here.”

“I know, and it’s adorable.” 

“Stop humouring me,” Waverly tells her, mostly to distract herself from the way her stomach had filled with butterflies to hear the compliment. 

“Oh, I’m not humouring you. You  _ are _ adorable but you’re terrible at astronomy.” 

Waverly wants to tell Nicole to stop calling her adorable in order to spare her own sanity, but instead all she can ask is, 

“And how do you know that, oh wise and smug one?”

“Because I used to study charts just in case I ever needed them to navigate by - ”

“Of  _ course _ you did Nicole. Of course that’s something you’d do.” 

Waverly cannot help but laugh at this new information. At every turn, Nicole just keeps on being more and more herself. There is something joyous in it because she is not predictable in this way, she is just so easily herself without any illusions. Waverly loves it. 

“You can laugh but I’m the one getting us out of here in a minute and at least I know that’s definitely not Orion.” 

“Yeah well, get back to me when you speak perfect Latin.”

“Teach me something in Latin and I’ll tell you which constellation that actually is.” 

 

 

 

 

 

“Cor ad cor loquitur.”

Nicole repeats it carefully, and Waverly corrects her a few times until she gets it right.

“What does it mean?” 

_ Heart speaks to heart. _

 

 

 

 

 

They have been silent for what is probably twenty minutes when Nicole says,

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

Waverly says, “about how much I like being here with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

(In truth, what she means to say is that she has been thinking about the heat of Nicole’s body next to her in the cold air, and the way it probably runs so warm because Nicole’s heart is so kind and full of love.

She is thinking about how she wants to live forever in this moment, because their legs are brushing together and occasionally Nicole’s hair tickles her cheek. Nicole still smells like vanilla and it is now Waverly’s favourite scent. 

She is thinking that she could turn her head and kiss Nicole on the cheek and nothing would probably be said about it. 

She is thinking that nothing about this feels platonic anymore. 

Except, it sort of does feel like friendship but it feels like something else too.

She is thinking that her heart is hungry and that she wants it all). 

 

 

 

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Waverly asks and Nicole looks surprised. Waverly can feel her heart start up a steady, nervous thudding in her ribcage. She does not have to start this conversation. There is no reason to open this can of worms, but for some reason she is doing so anyway. 

“Since when do we ask permission?” Nicole says, although not harshly. 

“It’s a non-approved question,” Waverly explains. “The stuff you shouldn’t ask in San Junipero.”

Nicole frowns. “We share all that stuff anyway.”  

“But haven’t you noticed? We only seem to do it unconsciously - we never ask each other about it. We just share.” 

“I like that,” Nicole admits. “It shows trust and that feels special. But you can ask. From hereon in Waverly: you can always ask.” 

This surprises Waverly, even if she has long since felt the same about Nicole. 

  
“But…”

“I don’t care about the guidelines and the unenforceable rules. There’s more important things in life,” Nicole says before she snorts. “Or afterlife. I don’t know what any of this is anymore. I don’t think I care, either.”

“Me neither.”

“So. You can ask. I won’t promise I’ll always answer, okay?” she stops and waits for an answer, and Waverly cannot tell her quickly enough that it is so, so much more than okay. “But if you’re happy for me to defer sometimes, then don’t second guess it. Just ask.” 

“I was wondering if you - “

Waverly pauses. Months of curiosity bubble up, but now she has permission to know more she struggles to articulate it. Everything feels invasive and it makes her feel insecure, even if Nicole could not have had more conviction in her voice. 

“It’s okay, Waverly.” 

“I guess like - I’m just curious about so much? Mundane stuff, whether you’re like me; whether you live in the hospital, how you fill your days.” 

Waverly knows that by asking she runs the risk of having the same questions asked of her. She has not prepared for how to answer such queries, and the thought has her stomach in knots. 

Nicole goes quiet for a moment, her breathing deep and even, almost as if by design.

“If I’m prying too much - “ Waverly hurries to say, right as Nicole speaks.

“Yes. I spend all my time...there. I don’t have a lot to fill that time, which is the worst part of it. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be there - probably less time than I’ve already spent as a full-time patient. I just do what everyone else does; books, TV. I try and teach myself things, or I just end up thinking about allsorts.” 

“Do you think about this?” Waverly asks, finding herself whispering without intending to.

“About San Junipero?” 

“Yes,” Waverly murmurs and again they speak at the same time. Simultaneously, Nicole asks, 

“Or about the two of us together?”

The words feel like a bolt of lightning and Waverly can feel the aftershock in her fingertips.

“Both,” Waverly clarifies, the word almost sticking on the roof of her mouth.  She is thankful for the darkness because it feels like a blanket covering both of them. It seems easier to share secrets when the only sentinels are the stars above them. 

“Yes,” Nicole replies after a pause. “To both.” 

It is a simple reply, but Nicole makes those three words sound like a promise and a prayer. She makes the moment seem like poetry, like an ode to something bigger even than their separate selves.   

“Do you?” Nicole asks after they lapse into silence. 

Feeling scared but pretending to be brave, Waverly takes Nicole’s hand for a fleeting moment. 

“I think I’ve forgotten how to think about anything else but this.” 

 

 

 

 

 

They head back to Nicole’s car shortly after, because it is nearly ten o’clock and also because Nicole nearly jumps out of her skin when Waverly’s cold fingers brush her own.

“Why didn’t you say something Waverly?” she asks, voice urgent and slightly shocked. “We could have left sooner.”

Waverly cannot help but laugh. 

“I was happy out here. And besides, just you wait until I’m this cold in winter but just like, when we’re in your house.” 

She does not think about the implication she is making until the words are out of her mouth. 

Perhaps luckily, Nicole replies before Waverly gets the chance to try and explain herself. She suspects she would only have put her foot in her mouth if she had tried to make an excuse for her words. 

“I’ll make sure I stock up on blankets,” she says, although her voice does not sound quite as amused as Waverly would have expected. 

They pack up quickly and Nicole passes her a flashlight.

“Just watch your step,” she says gently. “I don’t think it’s possible to break any bones here, but let’s not test that theory.” 

As it is, the journey out of the forest is almost without excitement. The decline means they move a little faster and they swap inane chatter back and forth. 

The only blip is when Waverly does indeed stumble and she is close enough for Nicole to grab blindly at her. 

Nicole manages to hold onto Waverly’s wrist, her palm sliding down to Waverly’s hand and gripping tight.

The motion pulls them close together, both of their faces cast in strange shadows thanks to the beams of their flashlights. 

“You okay?” Nicole asks, eyes meeting Waverly’s in a bold gaze that is all the bolder considering their proximity. 

Waverly tests her weight on the ankle she had twisted. It barely niggles at her at all.

“I’m fine,” she says in a whisper, staring back at Nicole. 

Their hands stay twined together and their breath mingles between them and, for a moment, neither of them seems inclined to move.

Waverly can feel her heart dancing out a vigorous beat, and she wonders if Nicole can feel it at the pulse point in her wrist. 

“We should go,” Nicole says eventually and Waverly nods wordlessly. 

Although they both hesitate, they do eventually depart, but it takes a moment or two before they let go of each other’s hands. 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole drives them back to her place,  _ Magic  _ playing quietly through the speakers, and she insists that Waverly come inside and get warm when they park up outside her house. 

For some inexplicable reason, Waverly does the polite thing and tries to courteously refuse.

She is flustered, the imprint of Nicole’s fingers still hot against her own. 

“I don’t have to come in if you’d rather not. I can just get the bus home if you want. There’s only an hour or so left and I - ”

“Waverly,” Nicole says, smiling and shaking her head. “Just come inside with me.” 

Nicole gets out of the car and collects her hiking bag from the trunk, leaving no room for debate.

She lets Waverly in first, and directs her to the nearest light switch so that they are not fumbling around in the dark. A ceiling light flickers on, and Waverly can at least see the now-familiar living room. 

Nicole follows, dropping the bag by the couch and flitting around until a few lamps are illuminated and all heavy overhead lights are off again. 

Waverly asks to use the bathroom, as much for a moment to collect herself as for any other reason, and Nicole directs her accordingly. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” she says, gesturing to an adjoining room through a square archway. “Come find me when you’re done.” 

Once safely in the upstairs bathroom, Waverly gives herself time to take a few, steadying breaths and to try and stop the tingling in her fingertips. 

Being around Nicole has always felt significant in one way or another, but right now it feels overwhelming. Waverly almost feels that she could explode if she does not come clean and speak her truth, but she knows as she stands there in Nicole’s bathroom that she doesn’t have the guts to do so tonight. 

She thinks of how easy it would be to mess things up while she is this flustered, and thinks that whatever the feeling between them is, it deserves better. 

Aware that she cannot take too long, Waverly makes a show of running the water before leaving, half-hoping that the mood between them will have simmered down by the time she gets downstairs. 

It is not that she does not revel in all of this, but it is like they are up a mountain where the air is thin and Waverly is struggling for breath. 

She finds Nicole with her back against a kitchen counter and a steaming mug in her hand. She is looking out through the archway that divides the kitchen from the living room, and out the full-length window opposite, through which the ocean is visible. 

She looks peaceful and unwound, and she smiles gently when Waverly reappears. 

Picking up another mug from the worktop beside her, she passes it to Waverly. 

“Be careful, it’s still hot. I thought we should have something comforting to warm us up.”

Waverly takes it and her skin singes again, not from the porcelain but from the way she cannot help but brush her fingers against Nicole’s to get to the cup’s handle. 

“Thank you,” she says, before moving to settle herself beside Nicole, slotting her body comfortably at the corner unit, so that only a few centimetres keeps them apart. 

Around them, the house is quiet and if she strains her ears, Waverly can hear the sea again. 

It is high tide - she can just see as much out of the window thanks to the low light of the house - and although the ocean comes nowhere near Nicole’s house, it is still a pleasing sight. 

The mood is completed when Waverly takes a sip from her mug and finds that Nicole has gone to the trouble of making hot cocoa for them.

The warm drink trickles pleasantly through her, and Waverly does not think she could feel cosier if she tried. 

Glancing back to Nicole to say ‘thank you’ again, Waverly instead finds her looking pensive and immediately changes her mind.

“Your turn to tell me what you’re thinking,” she prompts quietly instead.

Nicole smiles and gives a self-conscious little laugh. 

“Nothing half so profound as you, and I’m not quick enough to make up something less embarrassing.” 

Waverly just laughs. “It’s just me, no one to be embarrassed around.”

Nicole bites her lip for a moment before speaking again. 

“I’ve only just now had the thought that I’m spending all this time at the seaside with someone named Waverly,” she says softly before hurrying to explain. “I’m not trying to make a joke about it. God knows I get enough teasing about my own name. Like I say, it was just a stupid observation - looking out at the sea and thinking about you. My brain just went there - it felt fitting, I guess.”

She turns to face Waverly properly and that same look is still sitting behind her eyes, the fiery look from the forest. Once again, Waverly cannot seem to tear her gaze away; she does not want to. 

“Well, people do call me Waves or Wave,” she says. “Just people I’m close to, like my family and my school friends.”

“Just the people you  _ really  _ like then,” Nicole says, making a joke at her own expense. She probably expects sarcasm back from Waverly like all the other times before. She probably expects her to say  _ why do you think I’ve never told you about it before _ or  _ yeah, that’s a pretty exclusive club I’m afraid _ . 

But, this time, Waverly does not feel like clowning around with Nicole. She feels like being honest. 

“Exactly,” she says, voice weighty. “So I guess that means you should call me it too.” 

The admission leaves her heart somewhere in the back of her throat, and she knows Nicole is astute enough to hear the double meaning. 

Nicole shifts on the spot and Waverly momentarily thinks that she will actually kiss her then, as they stand together in Nicole’s kitchen with their cold hands wrapped around their warm cocoa.

But neither of them leans in even if, by the time the clock hits midnight, it already feels like everything has changed.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

 

“She’s still deciding,” Doc tells her quietly. 

Waverly had expected it to take a while. She still did not begrudge it and besides, she had been waiting years for something better. She could carry on waiting. 

“I think it kind of feels like we’re letting you go,” he says. “I’d wager maybe you’re ready. I just think the rest of us need a little time to get our heads around you going there for longer. But if I’m being honest Waverly - I don’t think any of us can get our heads round where you’ve been going in the first place.” 

Waverly wonders how she would explain it to them all. 

In truth, she wouldn’t know where to start anymore either. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Not Saturday. 2017.**

 

_ In time, Mictian helps Waverly to see how much the other demon hates her - how angry it is that Waverly got the pretty hair and the doting aunt and uncle. This twin demon - the one born at the very same moment as Waverly herself, hated that she, Waverly, got to be the straight-A student and the head cheerleader.  _

_ “If you hated me that much why didn’t you just end it?” Waverly finds herself asking, her own fury latched around this twin demon. What gave this other being the right to hate her so much? She had not asked for this life for either of them.  _

_ “You really are  _ stupid,  _ aren’t you?” the twin demon says, “if anyone does it but you, then I die too.”  _

_ Suicide. The demon is talking about Waverly ending her own life.  _

_ “I won’t do it,” she says, and her evil twin laughs and laughs, not with any real mirth but just because it can.  _

_ “I know you won’t. That other  _ thing _ won’t let that happen now.”  _

_ Mitctian still wants her body, Waverly understands that. Perversely it is probably the only thing keeping her alive.  _

_ Well, that and the fact that the twin demon is still bound by some kind of strange spell. It is stuck in limbo, its magic drained from it and forced only to trail miserably after Waverly year after year, its anger and its hatred bubbling and broiling.  _

 

 

 

 

 

_ _ The final insult comes when they use Waverly’s own body to collect the materials needed to free the demon from its bindings.  _ _

_ It is all part of the deal the two demons make together. If another, darker, and more powerful entity could be the one to house Mictian forever then it would have need of Waverly no longer. It could make a stronger team without Waverly’s mortal form, and although it has no reason to trust the other demon, it also has no way to push Waverly’s fatigued body much further.  _

_ And so, even though she knows no good can come of this and even though she struggles, it is Waverly that arranges the materials into a pentagram and it is Waverly who lights the right candles and bundles of herbs. It is Waverly’s voice that speaks the necessary words.  _

_ She feels freedom for about five, blissful minutes.  _

_ She remembers how it felt when Mictian left her, how the last vestiges of her energy drained and she could do little more than sink to her knees in complete and total exhaustion. From above her, she sees the horrifying, nightmarish form of the twin demon materialise and grow stronger even as she herself comes closer to sleep.  _

_ After months of the same prison, they barely even notice her when it is all over. In fact, it is only at the last minute that they realise that they cannot simply let Waverly go.  _

_ “If we do,” she hears the twin say, “the heir will know of us before we even make it to the boundary line.”  _

_ In her ear, a voice she has been bound to for months sounds up, like Mictian was still inside her instead of throwing its voice halfway across the homestead’s barn. _

_ “We can bind her. We can keep her quiet for eternity.” _

_ They do not bother to hide their intentions from Waverly, knowing that there is still little she can do to resist them, even now that she is free from Mictian’s possession.  _

_ “I studied that kind of magic,” Waverly manages to grit out, fighting to get up but struggling to move even her arms. Every muscle in her body protests and she cannot come close to getting upright. She has nothing left to give and she knows it. “I read up on it. That kind of magic is for the supernatural - it doesn’t work on non-supernatural beings.” _

_ She knows that she is right about this, and it gives her one last, treacherous spark of hope. She dares to think that she is going to make it, that she is finally going to be given her freedom.  _

_ But then the twin demon smiles at her, revealing those awful, ugly teeth and Waverly knows instinctively that she has been beaten. _

_ “Then it’s a good job none of us here  _ is _ a non-supernatural being, isn’t it?” _

_ They never do explain that to Waverly, instead they just leave her for dead in the cold air of the barn. They at least leave her slumbering, so it is not until she is found that she realises her fate.  _

_ Unbeknownst to Waverly, years and years would pass and she would have no explanation for what the demons told her. She would know only that somehow their supernatural spells worked on her too, and no one had found a counter-spell for it.  _

_ Jeremy would, in the years that followed, sit for hours at her beside and read through every magical counter spell he could find that seemed promising. He tried anything that looked like it might unbind Waverly. Even though they had no concrete proof it was a curse or a spell, even though all hope would drain from everyone eventually… _

_ Deep down, Waverly had long stopped believing that they would ever stumble upon a reverse spell by chance.  _

_ And, in five years, she had never heard anything about what kind of havoc the two demons might be wreaking together and she had no idea if they were still on the loose. Their accord had seemed a flimsy one, and she often wondered if one had ever betrayed the other as she suspected they might.  _

_ She supposes that, after a while, one demon is much like another to Wynonna and the rest of the team; if it is a threat it is to be put down and all that likely mattered to them was how to do so. They could easily have culled both of Waverly’s literal demons in one fell swoop, never knowing that they might have been the only ones who knew how to get Waverly back again. _

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2000.  
 **Visit 13.0****

 

“So, I spent my week reading up on Latin.”

“You did?” Waverly is genuinely surprised. No one has ever made the effort to take an interest in her love of all this stuff before. 

“I mean, I packed it into my busy schedule.”

“ _ And _ the cute sentiment is gone,” Waverly jokes before patting an offended-looking Nicole on the shoulder. “I’m kidding! I’m actually very excited to hear about what you read.” 

“Well, as we all know the internet is  _ always _ to be believed.”

“Of course.”

“So because I didn’t want to read bad information, I basically just did a search on some old phrases. But I ordered a couple of books to read up on it all because it actually looked kind of interesting.” 

“Okay, now you’re really gonna have to keep me posted,” Waverly says, feeling herself get more excited. “No one’s ever done this before.”

“Well yeah, see. I wanted to be able to share it with you.”

“You did?” Waverly cannot keep the surprise from her voice at that, because although she knew that they genuinely cared for each other, Waverly had not thought Nicole would spend so much time at home doing something so thoughtful. 

“Of course. You came hiking with me, I’m reading about Latin. That’s what we do, right?”

Waverly supposes that under any other circumstances, someone might have said  _ that’s what friends do _ but they both know from these last few visits that their relationship cannot be so easily categorised now. 

“Should I tell you my favourite phrase so far?” 

“Yes, please.”

“Promise not to laugh at my pronunciation.”

Waverly gives a brisk nod. 

“ _ Finis vitae sed non amoris _ .”

Waverly feels each word like an earthquake, and she  _ understands _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do like to string these things out! 
> 
> This chapter was such a joy to write, I’m really just very weak for these two being completely tender with each other. I hope as a result you liked it too, and comments really do make the writer’s heart soar!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not speak Latin, I’ve barely ever learnt much of it. The internet told me I got the translation right, and ofc the internet **never** lies. (Read: the internet is a big fat liar and I would appreciate hearing if my translations were off). What I was going for with the second one was ‘the end of life, but not of love’. 
> 
> That’s all for this week - as ever come yell about wayhaught with me if you want (I’m not on tumblr all that much but ssh)! Or if you share/support my ko-fi I’d be eternally grateful!!
> 
> Fandom twitter: @rositabustiiios  
> Tumblr: birositabustillos  
> Ko-fi: www.ko-fi.com/alissawrites (non-fandom/wearp writing twitter is also @alissawrites)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly and Nicole take a step into the 1980s, but can they move towards their future while they're partying it up in the past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Can't believe it's time for another chapter already.
> 
> Something tells me people might possibly like some of the events of this one. I know I certainly enjoyed writing the 80s vibe. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone reading along and commenting - it always makes me more happy than I can say. 
> 
> I don't think I have any housekeeping for this one, but the 80s spotify playlist for this chapter is here: https://open.spotify.com/user/alissaw21/playlist/26m3IIIeuoPfK0gbAxzmr7?si=3GqXzTENTJmUa4U49rSvRg
> 
> I really hope you enjoy!

**Saturday. 1987.  
**Visit 14.0****

 

“Okay, so here’s what I think,” Nicole says, just about keeping herself from dissolving into laughter with her top teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

For the first time, they had agreed to meet at her home and she had given Waverly the run of the upstairs bedroom, so that she could turn up and switch clothes if needed.

Waverly had shouted down at just gone seven o’clock, announcing herself as she made her way down the stairs. Nicole had taken one look and her shoulders had started shaking.

She does her best to compose herself.

“Okay,” she tries again. “What I think, is that we can’t start the evening dressed like this and not go out and party.”

She does laugh then, and Waverly can hardly say she blames her.

They have walked right out of an eighties classic - Waverly thinks of _Footloose_ and _Ferris Bueller_ for herself.

All of their trips to the nineties had been fun and kind of campy, like the most dedicated costume party in history, but going back even further took it to another level entirely.  

Nicole was right: they almost have no choice but to hit a bar.

Even so, Nicole seems to have gotten the most demure end of the deal, but only just. In fact, if anything, Nicole looks far more _Desperately Seeking Susan_ than anything else - very Madonna meets Rosanna Arquette in a black net top (a little too see-through for Waverly’s peace of mind), suspenders and baggy suit pants, and a large, gold-tinted blazer-type jacket. Her short hair has a decidedly crimped style to it, and it looks a little outrageous but Waverly kind of thinks it works well too.

Nicole seems to be entirely amused by the look, and perhaps a little pleased with herself too. Waverly can see why -

“You looks seriously great,” she says, figuring after the last couple of weeks that she might as well say it out loud. She had put her foot in her mouth enough times already, or that is at least how it feels. She rather felt as though it must look to Nicole like she, Waverly, had gone from zero to one hundred on the _feelings_ scale in the blink of an eye. In fairness, that was probably an accurate assessment, b ut Waverly could not tell how Nicole was receiving it.

As such, she had been intending to try for a little more poise and decorum this time, but it was easier said than done when they were both currently dressed like set extras.

“Are you kidding me?” Nicole says, giving Waverly a perfunctory once-over. “You win this one for sure.”

Waverly gives a little twirl, admittedly also quite happy with the way she’d turned up in San Junipero.

Something in her subconscious had clearly been bent towards unbridled eighties disco, because that was how she had found herself; decked out in tight, eye-catching leggings and a bright, off the shoulder shirt in a shade of red that could make a postbox feel abashed.

“I’m ready to hit the disco,” Waverly says, trying out a few stereotypical dance moves and making them both laugh in the process.

“And I’m definitely ready for the music and gimmicky drinks,” Nicole agrees, still grinning as, out of habit, she starts to check that she has everything in her pockets. Pausing, she turns back to Waverly and eyes her bare arms. “Do you want a jacket?”

Waverly considers it, and follows Nicole’s instructions to take one from the hanger near the entrance. As she sets her sights on an oversized jean jacket, Nicole says,

“Can you get my car keys while you’re there please?”

The keys are in a little glass bowl, sat in the centre of a dark wooden dresser right by the front door. Something else, however, catches Waverly’s eye as she goes to scoop the keys up. Nicole has kept the decorations as she wants them, rather than having them appear entirely era appropriate. The look is just as _‘rustic log cabin_ ’ as the rest of the place; a few deliberately scattered seashells she has picked up from the beach, a little wooden statuette, and next to it a large pine cone that looks as though it was plucked straight out of the forest.

Waverly runs her fingers over it gently for a moment. Of course, she cannot be sure it is the same one she picked two weeks ago. But she had lost track of it when they cleared away, and assumes it would have been easy for Nicole to pack it into her bag.

For some reason, Waverly had not expected Nicole to do something quite so sentimental and it brings a strange little lump to her throat.

She elects not to mention it when Nicole appears at her side and takes the keys from her.

“Ready to go?” she asks, smiling down at Waverly and opening the door for her to pass through.

As Nicole locks the door, Waverly jokes,

“I’m so especially ready to deal with annoying guys at bars, just like the first couple of times.”

Letting Waverly into the car first and then passing around to unlock the driver’s side too, Nicole surprises Waverly by shaking her head.

“Oh no, we’re not going back there tonight.”

“We’re not?”

They both get in the car and click their belts into place. Nicole pauses with the key by the ignition, taking a moment to gauge Waverly’s mood.

“Not unless you want to, obviously. That’s totally cool with me too - I just thought of another place we could try.”

Waverly considers it for a moment.

“I don’t know, guess it depends on what this alternative is,” she says, raising her eyebrows in a playful parody of an expectant pause.

“Well, let’s just say I know exactly the place to go where we definitely won’t be bothered by the straight man,” Nicole says, her own tone pointed and direct.

Waverly swallows.

“Okay,” she says, feeling anything but cool and confident at the implication. “Let’s go there.”

 

 

 

 

 

If San Junipero is a form of paradise, then of course it must have havens and haunts for everyone.

Waverly had not realised that there was a gay bar in a slightly quieter, hidden part of the city, right across the road from one of the many beaches.

Nicole, however, seemed to know exactly where she was going. As during their visit to the pier, she drops the car - this time an old Audi Quattro instead of the 1999 Corvette - off at a handy parking lot and seems to assume that they will not need it again until next week at the earliest.   

She walks them to the bar, happily telling Waverly about a bar in her college town that made its name amongst the students out of a wild once-weekly eighties night.

“You didn’t go dressed up or anything,” she explains, “you just knew that every Thursday night you could go dance your heart out to _Queen_ or _Wham!_ . I mean, _obviously_ it was a marketing ploy to get people through the doors on a weeknight. But it was the best ploy I ever got sucked into.”

“God. We had nothing like that in Pu- uh, at home,” Waverly says, feeling herself blush. She had not intended to say Purgatory - talking to Nicole has slipped that far into the familiar now - but worse, she had no reason to try and cover it up.

Happily, though, Nicole just looks faintly amused.

“Sorry,” Waverly says, knowing she has nothing to apologise for, and somehow feeling even more out of sorts for having done so.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nicole says. “You don’t even know the number of times I’ve nearly done that.”

Waverly sends her a look of disbelief. “Really?”

“Sure,” Nicole says with an easy shrug. “It’s just second nature now, right?”

“What is?”

“Us. Talking, hanging out I guess,” Nicole says with another shrug, like she hadn’t really thought through the point herself. Then, she suddenly checks herself. “Isn’t it?”

She asks this with a slightly urgent glance over at Waverly, who cannot seem to stop her stomach whirling with butterflies tonight.

“Oh, yeah of course. It is,” she says, before murmuring to herself, “it really, really is.”

Nicole must hear it though, because a little smile settles deep onto her face.

 

 

 

 

 

The thing about San Junipero, is that there is no such thing as arriving too early.

It would be unimaginable at home to hit a club so early in the night. Here though, people are stitching weeks worth of memories out of only a few hours of string, and a lot of people start the party as soon as they can.

In fairness, the place Nicole picks out lives in that little space between club and bar. It has a sizeable dancefloor and a fantastic cocktail menu, but it also has a tiny seating area outside where people can drink and look out onto the beach.

They start out there, both with a simple beer to ease them in. They sit near the shadow of a sign that quite literally reads ‘Gay Bar’ and Waverly can see from all the neon bulbs that it is, in part, meant to be ironic. In the actual eighties, this would have been impossible but here and now in San Junipero people can more or less do what they like. Things still suck in the present for a lot of people, but acceptance is growing.

Waverly can sense that feeling of freedom amongst the patrons. She wonders if the people here are mostly children of the sixties and seventies, reliving their youth in this subsect of San Junipero week in and week out.

Of course, Waverly understands the appeal. There is a reason why she and Nicole have mostly stuck within a certain timeframe. Some places just feel like home; it doesn’t always matter where you are, so long as the details feel right.

Here, it all seems to be in the details; the odd stretch of rainbow bunting here, a painted Freddie Mercury mural and faded posters for _The Hunger_ and _Desert Heart_ there.

“Have you been here much?” Waverly asks as they sip their beers.

“Obviously not much,” Nicole says, referring to all the time they have spent together without ever visiting this bar together. “But I did come by a few weeks in a row. You know, before we met.”

Waverly nods.

“It’s nice. I like it here,” she says, meaning it. The staff seem to be the ‘owners’ - insofar as you can own a bar here - and they were friendly and jovial behind the bar. There was a light, happy atmosphere here and Waverly felt at ease.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind, by the way,” Nicole says, looking slightly awkward for more or the less the first time. “They always had a good ambiance here and I thought it would be just as good in this era. I should probably have checked with you first though, sorry.”

“Nicole, it’s fine. I’m happy here,” Waverly says, speaking directly and hoping Nicole understands the point she is making.

“We can always go later,” Nicole insists, pressing the matter. “I just thought it made even more sense, with you mentioning being disturbed by those guys in your first couple of weeks but - ”

“Well, I don’t want to be disturbed again, especially right now,” Waverly insists with a smile. “I’m happy being here with you.”

Nicole smiles back. “I’m always happy being with you, too.”

They hold each other’s gazes and keep smiling, and if Waverly had ever doubted that they were on some sort of uncharted trajectory together, then every interaction between them now just keeps chipping that doubt away to nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

Night falls and the bar gets louder as more people arrive and those who have been there a while slip into drunkenness.

Nicole and Waverly had been content to sit outdoors and chat, splitting an array of happy hour cocktails in the fading light. Most of the old school drinks (honourable mentions to: Long Island Iced Tea or Alabama Slammer) had made a resurgence in their youth, so they find very few new ones to sample, but somehow the drinks taste even better when consumed in their present environment.

Waverly favours a Tequila Sunrise for the grenadine, and she fiddles with her orange wedge as they both let the atmosphere wash over them.

From inside, a cheer goes up and Waverly finds herself turning to look indoors, perhaps to catch whatever had caused such a universal bout of excitement.

It takes a moment or two, but Waverly hears the first strains of a familiar song start up and she finds herself sharing the sentiment of those at the bar. She watches as people start getting up to dance.

She whirls back to speak to Nicole, and finds her watching and wearing a knowing smile as she stirs at the dregs of her Blue Lagoon with a bright yellow cocktail umbrella.

“I already know what you’re going to say.”

“No shit. It’s _Walk Like An Egyptian_.”

Nicole tosses back the last of her drink without hesitation, tipping her head back so that Waverly can see the bob of her throat when she swallows.

“Obviously, the answer is yes,” Nicole says, setting down her empty glass and holding out her hand for Waverly to take. “We can’t not dance to this.”

They squeeze their way inside and find the place packed out. Waverly had barely noticed the numbers swelling so much and is forced to admit that she had been far too invested in speaking with Nicole.

She has not said as much to Nicole, but she has never been to a gay bar before. She had wanted to avoid clinging to any stereotypes but the party crowd here certainly did seem very... _keen_. Most people were dancing with complete, unabashed enthusiasm and Waverly found herself truly excited to join in.

It was freeing, too, to see people dancing together who might once not have been able to do so in any other place but a gay club. Waverly feels it warm her heart in an almost familiar way. She had already decided not to redefine herself just yet, but it feels like home here and she feels like she belongs.

Perhaps, she thinks, it has something to do with the way Nicole’s hand is still cradled around her own. Perhaps it has something to do with seeing two girls already furiously lip-locked in a distant booth, because the sight makes her think instantly of Nicole and wonder whether she might try to kiss Waverly here tonight.

Even as she thinks Nicole has set up too many boundaries for herself now, Waverly dares to hope that something else between them might be possible.

They stop at the edge of the dancefloor and still they do not let go of the other’s hand.

Nicole leans in close and talks into Waverly’s ear to make herself heard over the din.

“I’m still not a confident dancer,” she says.

“That doesn’t matter!” Waverly insists, before adding, “you don’t have to, not if you really don’t want to.”

Nicole pulls back for a second and grins, before inching closer to Waverly’s ear again.

“I told you the first time, I make exceptions for pretty girls.”

 

 

 

 

 

They dance and dance, and even Nicole seems to forget that she doesn’t really like to do so.

By the end of the first song, she has already shrugged out of her jacket and opted to tie the arms around her waist.

This is perhaps for the best, given that it forces Waverly not to look at the way the muscles in her stomach undulate when she moves.

Eventually (and very much as expected) they are swept further and further onto the floor, the space rammed and slightly disorientating thanks to the strobe lights and the way the floor tiles themselves flash different neon colours.  

With little choice but to drift in the tide of people, they cannot help but find themselves pressed closer and closer together. Nicole’s body is hot next to Waverly’s, the bare skin of her arms practically singing like lit coals when they come together as they move to the music. By the time they are in the centre of the floor, anything close to dancing is impossible, but Waverly can no longer concentrate on the steps anyway.

They have had a few drinks, but Waverly can sense that this is not the reason her head feels slightly fuzzy.

For her whole life she had never really acknowledged her capacity to be attracted to women, but with Nicole pressed against her at almost every point of their bodies, the physiological reaction is almost impossible to ignore.

Not for the first time, Waverly wonders why it took her so long to realise.

When Waverly glances to Nicole, seeking reassurance that this is all okay, she finds her looking down with her bottom lip tugged between her teeth. With the orange lights flashing it truly looks as though her eyes are afire, and Waverly has never felt more inclined to kiss her.

They are so close, they are in the protected space of a gay club, and their bodies are already as melded together as they could conceivably be. There is barely a gap to close, and Waverly feels certain she is going to take a leap of faith. She takes a deep, steadying breath and leans in when two other things happen at once.

Firstly, the music shifts from Belinda Carlisle to the famous George Michael/Aretha Franklin team up, and secondly Nicole leans into Waverly again to speak.

There is a second when she might catch Waverly’s intent, because her eyes widen slightly and her expression shifts.

But she is already in motion, trying to communicate something with Waverly, and it is too late.

It is an honest case of a bad coincidence.

“I’m actually roasting being surrounded by all these people. Can we tap out for a few minutes? Maybe grab a drink and then head back?”

Swallowing down her disappointment, Waverly gives her affirmative that it is okay to leave and Nicole takes her hand again to pull her through the melée.

They find a small table and Waverly keeps it as their own while Nicole squeezes towards the bar to buy their drinks.

“Is there anything specific you want?” Nicole asks before she leaves, looking at Waverly strangely.

Doing her best to flash a convincing smile, Waverly shakes her head. “Surprise me.”

Nicole leaves and Waverly works to swallow her heart, determined to dislodge it from where it currently sits in her throat.

Nicole had known what Waverly was trying to do. It was obvious that she had moved by accident, but Waverly had already leaned in by that point. There could have been little excusing it. Nonetheless, based entirely on the fact that Nicole had said nothing about it - nor had she tried to re-instigate what Waverly had failed to do - Waverly starts trying to think of excuses should Nicole ask any difficult questions.

All of them seem weak though, even to Waverly herself, and she gives it up as a lost cause. More likely that not, Nicole will be too polite to ask anyway.  

Instead, she checks to see how close Nicole is to being served.

The bar is completely packed out, but she eventually manages to spot Nicole by her the hue of her hair as she leans over the bar and shouts her order in the direction of the young bartender. He nods and sets off collecting ingredients for their drinks.

They have not yet tired of all the novelty cocktails, even if Nicole had already admitted she was usually much more at ease with a simple bottle of beer or glass of red wine.

This whole time and place is performative, however, and they are keeping to the script.

Well, they are mostly doing so. Waverly had tried to deviate, and could only worry now that things would be awkward.

 _This_ , she decides, _was why I wanted to ignore all this feeling crap in the first place_.

Feeling thoroughly confused and more than a little sorry for herself, she finds herself staring at the bar while she waits. This means that she sees it immediately, when the person next to Nicole strikes up a conversation.

She sees how the pretty, young girl with endless blonde waves and a stylish red bandana swaps a joke that makes them both laugh. Still utterly thrown by the events of the night, Waverly admires the way Nicole looks when she laughs over and over again at whatever the other girl is saying.

And perhaps because Waverly is out of sorts, and probably a little oblivious too, it is not until the other girl lays a bold hand at Nicole’s bicep for a moment in a friendly, fleeting touch, that Waverly understands what she is witnessing.

As realisation hits, she feels something strange bubble up in her stomach but it takes a few more frantic moments of observation before Waverly identifies the urgent, sick feeling as one of pure panic.

She has spent so much time reaching out to and then drawing back from her feelings for Nicole, and she suddenly understands that she has become slightly fearful of Nicole not wanting to wait around.

After all, Nicole is young, seemingly single, and very beautiful. She might have mentioned that she had not sought out a San Junipero hook-up in the past but in truth what was to stop her? There was no agreement between them as to what they were to each other, no indication that they had come here as anything but friends - admittedly perhaps with another, unarticulated undercurrent. But an undercurrent was not an expression of even the barest intent, and so Waverly knows that she should be acting as a friend to Nicole.

A good friend would be encouraging of something like the flirtation the girl at the bar is offering Nicole. Perhaps Nicole would even expect a wing woman. Especially given that this is San Junipero; they kind of have their routes home at midnight planned already. It isn’t really bailing if you’re not physically here anyway.

But even so, Waverly does not think she could bear it if Nicole went off with this ethereally beautiful other woman.

It is only then, with that thought, that Waverly truly understands how deep this all goes within her.

Even with the way she had almost taken a leap of faith out there on the dance floor, it takes the sight in front of her now to really confirm it. The stakes are obvious in one sudden swoop.

If she does not want Nicole to be with someone else tonight, then all she can surely do is let her know that she, Waverly, is an option too.

She needs to let her know properly this time. Or else she has to give up on her feelings and not let this strange, uncomfortable sensation in her tummy dig itself any deeper.

Waverly had struggled for the better part of a month now, trying to parse out what she really wanted because the idea of falling so hard for someone in these circumstances was still a cause for concern. If she was being entirely honest with herself, the only thought keeping her going for five years prior to San Junipero was that one day things might go back to how they were.

It wasn’t hope in her chest, necessarily, but perhaps traditional Earp stubbornness keeping her picturing a day when she might get to go back to her family.

Admitting to anything more than skin-deep attraction to Nicole was tantamount to admitting that there was something in San Junipero that she wanted for more than just the short term.

Seeing any kind of future here was one step from an admission that she might never go home properly.

More than that, wanting a future _something_ with Nicole - even for five hours every week - was an admission that she had found something better to sustain her than the empty conviction that she could bear to keep her life on hold for any longer.

She does not want to be in stasis any longer, and she does not want to only carve out some half-assed attempt to kiss Nicole while a crowded dance floor was wrapped tight around them.

Waverly knows that if she puts things off much longer both here and at home, then there is nothing to say that both would not be taken away from her in one form or another. Either she would have to learn to bear watching scenes like this, or she would have to do something else about it.

So, she tries to assess her own feelings, mentally urging herself to watch the interaction as it plays out at the bar.

Just as she and Nicole had struggled to make themselves heard over the loud music, the blonde-haired girl at the bar was clearly using the same problem to her advantage. It is a good tactic - Waverly had been doing the same, after all.

The unknown girl says something else directly into Nicole’s ear, standing close.

In tandem, the sense of panic in Waverly only grows. A voice in her head ceaselessly asks the same questions over again: _what will you do if Nicole is interested in her? What will you do if Nicole wants to sit with her, rather than you? What if Nicole is done waiting for you after all these months?_

After all, Nicole should be interested. The girl at the bar is pretty and smiley, and she is evidently confident enough to chat Nicole up.

Nicole responds somewhat in kind, smiling gently and speaking back when the conversation compels her to do so.

Waverly watches as eventually, the girl gestures first at the myriad bottles of spirits lined up behind the bar, and then to the crowded dance floor. Waverly imagines her asking if she can buy Nicole a drink, or if Nicole just wants to dance instead.

Heart ricocheting off her ribs, Waverly watches for Nicole’s reaction.

Slowly, she pulls a face. It is an apology, that much could be assessed even by a relative stranger. Then, Nicole gives a tiny shake of her head and gestures vaguely behind her.

In response, the unknown girl nods before giving a little, personable shrug and a smile, eventually turning away.

Just as a feeling of relief that Waverly knows to be entirely, unpleasantly selfish washes over her, she watches as the blonde girl hesitates. She seems to tell Nicole, now collecting their drinks, to wait and takes the chance to snag a pen from behind the bar. Quickly she writes something on a fortuitously placed napkin, before pressing it directly into Nicole’s hand.

Nicole takes it relatively impassively and the blonde girl gives a final little smile as Nicole walks away. She seems entirely unperturbed to have been at least temporarily turned down, and either she really is that laid back or she has a good poker face.

Waverly half-envies her either way.

For her own part, Nicole smiles widely at Waverly when she sits down again, sliding a cocktail glass across the table. Its contents is neon green in colour but, upon a tentative tasting, not at all unpleasant to drink. In fact, it arguably goes down a little too well, considering they are onto their fourth round of drinks.  

Nicole does not mention her interaction at the bar, but neither does she try to hide it either.

Arguably, she has simply had enough of trying to raise her voice against the din as she drops the customised napkin onto the table with the little pile of blank tissues she had already picked up.

Trying to be at least slightly surreptitious, Waverly notes that the girl has written her number down, along with a little message that seems to read _if you’re ever not out with your friend, you should call me!_ She signs her name as _Olivia_ and adds a final postscript at the bottom: _P.S. I seriously like that you’re not the kind of person to ditch your friends_.

Waverly’s brain - always overactive to a degree - struggles to come to a sensible conclusion about this.

On the one hand, Nicole had turned Cute Olivia down because she was with Waverly. They had come to this bar - a gay bar - as two single people with no explicit promise not to maybe hook up with someone that night. And still, Nicole had turned down the opportunity to at least dance with someone else. On the other, she had said she was out with her friend.

She had referred to Waverly explicitly as a friend.  

Of course, there is no other more suitable word for them at the moment, even if ‘friends’ no longer feels accurate either.

Too late, Waverly realises that she has spent a little too long deciphering the message on the napkin and, out of the corner of her, she can see Nicole watching her.

It makes her wonder if she should mention the whole thing, but she worries she might come across as standoffish or, worse, jealous.

She also does not want to approach it from the opposite angle and imply that she will wait around if Nicole wants to go off for a while. Of course, she would do just that if Nicole asked as much. But she does not want to imply she explicitly _wishes_ to do so, because that would be a lie.

So, they say nothing about the whole thing, and the napkin sits, half-buried under its blank counterparts like an elephant in the room.

Instead, they awkwardly try to speak over the sound of Foreigner playing _Say You Will_. Waverly only hears half of what Nicole says and evidently the same must be true in reverse too, because the attempt at conversation peters away eventually.

In the pause that follows, Waverly catches Nicole’s eyes on the napkin from earlier, her face thoughtful and mellow. It is hard to tell whether she regrets the interaction or regrets not acting upon Cute Olivia’s offer.

Either way, Waverly hates that the good mood from earlier is dissipating and feels somehow at fault for it; she knows that she is behaving skittishly and out of sorts.

In truth, she is stuck in indecision, wondering whether she should finally come clean to Nicole or leave things as they are. After her failed attempt earlier, she does not know if she will make things better or worse.

After a while, a look of determination flashes over Nicole’s face instead and she is the one who leans back in and tries to speak again.

She says, “Waverly, there’s something I think I need to tell you,” right as the band sings the chorus again for the second time.

It is almost as though someone has turned the volume up even louder, and all Waverly can hear is the song: _say you will, say you won’t, make up your mind this time_ …

Something in the line snaps the last thread of resolve in Waverly, who shoots to her feet.

“Bathroom,” she says, her voice coming out wild and garbled. “I need to go the bathroom.”

She stumbles off - not because she is drunk but because she has absolutely no luck - to the follow up line: _say you will, say you won’t...be mine tonight_...

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly finds the bathroom improbably but mercifully deserted, and locks herself in a stall for a moment to catch her breath.

 _It’s just Nicole_ , she tells herself over and over.

Because, deep down, she trusts Nicole on a soul level and she knows that even if things don’t work out as she hopes, she can trust Nicole not to react badly.

She takes a minute, and then she takes two, and time passes a little further until Waverly psychs herself up to leave the bathroom and head back to the bar.

The music is oddly muted in here, and Waverly can feel her ears ringing slightly as she stands at the sink and washes her hands.

She is just splashing some cool water on her face when the door opens and her isolation is brought to an end.

She does not bother looking to the newcomer, just focussing on her breathing and her plan of action. She imagines herself asking Nicole if they can step outside for a moment. She imagines how she’ll admit her recent realisation and, yet again, she imagines kissing Nicole for the first time.

But before any of that can come to fruition a soft, familiar voice calls out her name like a prayer.

“Waves?”

It is the first time she has acted on Waverly’s invitation to use her nickname, and Waverly thinks perhaps Nicole is making a point.

Waverly turns fast to look at her, and finds Nicole standing there - but it is perhaps a version of Nicole she has never seen before.

Nicole has always been gentle and open, but in that moment she looks more open than ever. The proud line of her shoulders is sloped and softened, her face is crumpled into a look that is half-unsure, half-desperate in the most heart-wrenching of ways.

Without thinking, Waverly unconsciously dries her hands on her shirt as she watches and waits for Nicole to speak again.

“I was a bit worried about you, I wanted to come and check,” Nicole explains. “I thought you might be unwell or...I don’t know. As stupid as it sounds, I thought you might be upset? That perhaps I upset you. If it’s about the girl at the bar then - well I guess you know I didn’t for a second intend to ditch you. And there was something else, the thing I was trying to say out there - ”

Nicole pauses and Waverly finds herself straining, silently urging Nicole to carry on.

“Yes?” Waverly prompts and Nicole shakes her head as if to dismiss the matter entirely. Undeterred, Waverly adds, “please, Nicole. Please tell me what you needed to say.”

Nicole draws a deep breath in, steeling herself.

“It’s - I’m sorry. Because I think you know what I wanted to say Waverly, and I really am so sorry. I’ve spent all this time trying to ignore how I feel because I never wanted you to feel uncomfortable. Do you know what I mean by that?” Nicole does not wait for Waverly to answer. “But then earlier, while we were dancing - I thought you were about to...Well, I got the wrong end of the stick, I think, but it’s brought it all to the surface for me again.”

Waverly has lost count of how many times her heart has raced in Nicole’s presence recently, but they all pale into comparison to the vigorous tattoo currently beating in her chest.

“You didn’t,” she says quickly.

Nicole does a double take. “I - what?”

Waverly opens her mouth, but no words come to her. In spite of all her planning, her mind goes blank. The only thing she can think to do is to kiss Nicole and so, with no more hesitation, she does it.

She steps across the room to erase the space yawning between them and her gait is perhaps a little too urgent because when they come together it is with more force than Waverly had intended.

But even as her body knocks into Nicole’s, they finally find each other’s lips and the kiss is like a wave breaking, the water crashing down over them both at once.

Nicole kisses like every one of the San Junipero sunsets they have seen together; like she is the sun and she is reaching for the horizon.

In turn, Waverly feels the heat of the kiss; because if Nicole is the sun then she is the ocean, painted pink and orange in the dying rays.

Nicole’s hands wrap around Waverly’s waist and bring their bodies closer and, just as she has been dreaming of for weeks, Waverly’s fingers can finally cup Nicole’s jaw and feel the soft, smooth skin beneath her own.

They settle into the kiss almost surprisingly easily, like their lips were made only to fit the other’s; like they had been moulded for this one, sole purpose.

The ringing in Waverly’s ears only seems to intensify under the weight of the moment, but somehow when Nicole gasps against her lips the sound hits her like an avalanche.

Waverly can feel her own breathing quickening - the kiss stealing all the air from her lungs.

In the end, Nicole is the one to break them apart.

“Wait,” she says, voice hindered by the way she still pants to catch her breath. “Waverly wait. Are you sure you want this? I thought you were - I just want you to really want this to happen between us.”

“I thought so too,” Waverly says, fighting her own struggle to speak properly. It is made all the harder by the way Nicole has not stepped away. Their bodies are still flush and their lips are barely an inch apart. Now she knows how it feels to kiss Nicole, she wants it all the more.

And Lord, it feels like every synapse in her body is on high alert. It feels like she is aglow; like she is so weightless she could float away.

It feels like paradise.

It is the missing puzzle piece because, yes, now San Junipero really feels like paradise.

“I thought I was too,” Waverly repeats. “But then I met you and I realised I wasn’t str- I just couldn’t be. I want this. I want it all - and I kind of want it right this moment.”

Nicole looks to be on the same knife edge as Waverly, and with that assent she dips down for another kiss.

Waverly kisses back, her heart singing at the way this moment feels.

 

 

 

 

 

“Should we leave?” Waverly asks eventually, voice stuck in the space between a whisper and a gasp as the scrape of Nicole’s teeth makes her shiver. She is cognisant that they could be interrupted at any time, and more than that she would rather a slightly quieter, more romantic setting than their current location.

“Do you want to?” Nicole asks, pulling back and watching Waverly’s face very closely and carefully.

Waverly considers it for a moment. It is sudden and certainly quite reckless to take these steps so fast, but it has been building between them for so much longer than Waverly had consciously perceived.

“Yes. _Yes_ Nicole.”

She manages to breathe the words out before her lips reach for Nicole again. They embrace once more before Nicole threads her fingers into Waverly’s hair and grip just tight enough to make Waverly moan.

It is earth-shaking, knowing that they do not have to let go this time.

 

 

 

 

 

Much like the dream she had had weeks before, Waverly eventually finds herself pressed back on a soft pile of scatter cushions, Nicole above her and smiling like this might be the best thing that has ever happened.

(Waverly cannot say she disagrees).

Nicole settles herself above Waverly, her weight just pressing down to the right degree, her hips angled comfortably as she hooks one of Waverly’s legs around her body.

They had barely been able to resist the magnetic pull between them as they caught a bus home - Nicole could not drive after all the cocktails - and they had been caught in an embrace the second Nicole’s front door had swung shut behind them.

Waverly can tell already that Nicole is leaving a space at the helm for Waverly to occupy. She knows that Nicole is leaving it up to her. So, feeling a boldness she cannot explain, she is the one to direct them upstairs. She is the one to pull them onto Nicole’s comforter, the one to scrabble at Nicole’s shoulders and try to dispose of the jacket Nicole had only recently put back on.

“Are you sure?” Nicole asks time and again, starting when Waverly takes Nicole’s hands and slips them under her own shirt.

“Yes,” Waverly says over and over, starting as permission and ending as an ascension to somewhere higher, somewhere better the moment Nicole takes her bra off and lands her lips on Waverly’s chest.

 

 

 

 

“I don’t normally - so soon - ”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to Waves.”

“I want to, I just don’t normally do this so fast.”

“If you’re not s-”

“I am. God I’m so sure Nicole.”

“Me too. Waverly I - I care about you so much. I just want it to be okay - better than okay, good, amazing - for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

(“I don’t know how to do this. What if I can’t make you - you know - ?”

“Don’t worry about it. If you still want to for me after you’ve...I’ll show you how.”)

 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, Nicole runs her hand up and down Waverly’s stomach and Waverly buries her head in Nicole’s neck.

“Can I ask you something random?”

Nicole chuckles. “Sure.”

“A couple of weeks ago, when we were in the kitchen, you said something about people making fun of your name.”

“Oh God, trust you to remember that at this moment.”

“Will you tell me?”

Nicole fakes a sigh and a needling whine. “Do I _have_ to?”

“Come on, I’ve been wondering for two weeks. Humour me, won’t you?”

“My surname,” Nicole says with another sigh, a real one this time. “It’s spelt like H-A-U-G-H-T. Said like hot. You wouldn’t think people would be so unimaginative but…” Nicole ends with an awkward little shrug before realising that Waverly is holding back a laugh. “Don’t you dare.”

“Okay, okay,” Waverly says, trying to tone down a smile. “It’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. And surely now, given the current context, I’ve earned my right to say ‘yes, you are’, right?”

Nicole just pulls back to flash a look of feigned exasperation. “I’ll let you have it just this once. But only because you’re cute.”

“Aw, you think I’m cute?”

Nicole passes an appraising look over her, and her gaze is so full of fire that Waverly can’t help but blush. In all her years no one has ever looked at her like that before.

“I’d say I kind of do, yeah.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Will you go on a date with me next week? A proper one?”

Waverly raises an eyebrow.  “Aren't we doing this a bit backwards?”

Nicole laughs. “Well given that we're technically both bedbound in separate hospitals goodness knows how far apart, I'd certainly say so yeah.”

“Fair point.”

“It’s 11:59 Waves. Don’t leave me hanging all week.”

“There is nothing I would like to do more in heaven than go on a date with you.”

Nicole doesn’t say anything after that, just pulls Waverly close as they wait.

This time, Waverly leaves San Junipero to the feel of Nicole’s warm, lithe body clinging to her own.

But it changes nothing. She blinks and it is still over too soon.

They have run out of time again.

 _They are always running out of time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo what did you think???? 
> 
> I hope you'll let me know below or on twitter as it means the world. Please feel free to @ or dm me! 
> 
> Aaand final thing - if you're going to be at Clexacon London this weekend tell me so I can come by and say hi!! I promise I'm only marginally awkward and I do give good hugs if that's your jam. 
> 
> Until next week though, take care and see you same time, same place!
> 
> stan twitter: @rositabustiiios  
> tumblr: birositabustillos  
> kofi: ko-fi.com/alissawrites (writing twitter is also @alissawrites)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's time for the most romantic "first" date nicole can muster...oh, and perhaps a few shared revelations too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! It's Tuesday again (which I only know bc calendars and not bc I'm remotely with it today), which means CCL is over and I'm a tired, emotional wreck because cons ending always sucks. So if these notes are even worse than usual, this is my excuse!! 
> 
> This is another of the chapters I really enjoyed writing, so I hope that shines through! Thank you so so much for all your kind words and support. I think I'm feeling even more wrapped up in fandom love than normal, which is saying a lot! 
> 
> I don't have too much more to add to this chapter, just that I really hope you enjoy reading it.

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

 

Waverly has not had any exciting news to give anyone in five years.

Arguably, this is a new form of torture and frustration - having news and being able to share it with no one.

Jeremy would want to know. Indeed, everyone would want to know, but she and Jeremy would probably have talked about it first. She would have wanted Wynonna to be in the loop too, but she knows she would have sought advice from Jeremy - or maybe even Rosita - first.

He still gives her the blow-by-blow updates on his own love life (arguably she is a little  _ too _ up to date at times) and although he might not be a pinnacle of dating advice, he is supportive and he always gave great pep talks.

This will be her first date in more years than she cares to consider and she finds that she is nervous.

It is absurd, really, because what she and Nicole have been doing for weeks could arguably have been considered dating.

The thing is though, this is a date by name too.

Her nervousness is all the more absurd given how she ended her Saturday night.

A part of her still cannot believe she took that leap so quickly. She knows she would not have done so with anybody else.

Even if they only spend an evening together at a time, they have known each other for months now and stepping off the precipice had not felt so scary. Waverly’s only fear was that she did not know what she had to do to make another woman feel good, but Nicole had been only too willing to teach her.

The memory of it makes her body ache in the best of ways, and it also deepens the sense of frustration that this is all happening to her in such an unconventional way.

If she cannot believe she was so quick to sleep with Nicole, a larger part of her cannot believe how easily she had fallen into the feeling of physicality with another woman.

After years of unconsciously holding back thoughts of this kind of attraction (truly, she had not realised what was going on beneath the surface), one night with Nicole had left her lit up and broiling, desperate to feel those same hands on her skin again and again.

Because Lord, Nicole had been good. She had been more than good.

(And of course, being Nicole, she had known it too. She had known it well and she had not held back).

It was everything and nothing like Waverly had imagined and for days she cannot stop replaying it in her head.

It is hard to think of much more than the way Nicole had scooped Waverly up in that bathroom, resting her gently against the counter to make it easier for them to melt together. Waverly thinks of how her knees had parted of their own accord, coaxing Nicole closer…

With Nicole’s lips on her own, the fire beneath Waverly’s skin had felt unbearable and in that moment she wanted - more than that, she had  _ needed  _ \- Nicole to stoke the flames.

And Nicole had taken things so slowly, so softly with her that she had felt like she was falling apart at the seams, as though the soul of her was pouring out between the cracks. Nicole had checked in with every stray touch, every fleeting slide of her tongue against Waverly’s body.

She had derobed Waverly with unbridled reverence and Waverly had done the same to her in return.

It had been everything the stereotypes said it could be; connection between skin and then deeper still. The way Nicole had looked at her - like she was something more precious than diamonds or gold - had brought a lump to Waverly’s throat. She had never expected that she would feel something like this again, she had believed life was at best on hold and at worst over for good.

But Nicole was there with her and she was more than Waverly felt she deserved in any reality. There was a word for what was growing between them, but Waverly was too scared to think about it just yet.

And if Waverly had felt a tug of emotion in her own chest, Nicole was right there with her.

Indeed, Nicole had opened her eyes after her own release, and she had looked at Waverly like she was spellbound and starstruck but her eyes were shining with something else too.

_ “Are you okay?” Waverly had whispered, a modicum of insecurity creeping in at the twinkling tears in Nicole’s eyes. _

_ “More than okay,” Nicole had replied eventually, voice equally quiet and a little unsteady. “But are you?” _

_ Waverly had not been able to keep back a delighted little laugh. “I feel like my legs are water but why wouldn’t I be okay?” _

_ “I just - I didn’t think you’d want this,” Nicole had said, her voice gravelly and uneven with unshed tears. For the first time, Waverly had caught a glimpse of what their relationship meant to her. “I thought it was all in my head - that you could never want something like this between us. From the start, it seemed impossible.” _

_ Waverly had felt her chest ache then at the plaintive way Nicole wordlessly seeks her reassurance. She had curled tighter into her, never realising it was possible to press herself this close to another soul in every way. _

_ “I didn’t know,” she had said, repeating her line from earlier in the night. “I swear it took feeling all these things for you to make me realise. I’m so new to it. I’m so sorry -” _

_ “Waverly, that’s not something you need to be sorry for.” _

_ “No, I mean I’m sorry if it’s not enough. If me not knowing how to do this - if you need more.” _

_ Nicole had given a tiny gasp then, not dissimilar to the way she had gasped, pleasure-laden, against Waverly’s lips before. This time, though, the sentiment could not have been more different. _

_ “You’re so much more than  _ enough _ Waverly. I’ve never needed more than this _ .”

Waverly replays how Nicole had taken her again then; how they had both had each other a second time.

Nothing had ever felt like that before. Waverly wasn’t even entirely sure anything could feel like that again (although that was not to say she was unwilling to try). And it had once more pushed the bounds of reality because at times Waverly had felt like she was leaving a body that she surely did not fully inhabit in the first place. But the weight of Nicole’s fingers on her bare skin had left no doubt in Waverly’s mind that this world was not a facsimile but an alternate reality all of its own.

There was no code in all the world that, as far as Waverly was concerned, could feel the way Nicole’s mouth had felt between her legs.

But for all the emotion between them, Nicole’s warmth had still been taken from her at midnight, and Waverly had found herself back on her own in her bed.

The tender heat of Nicole’s hands - and of her heart - lingers, however, tiding Waverly over until next Saturday.

 

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2016.  
**Visit 15.0****

_ This must be the last gasp of fall  _ Waverly thinks as she stands amongst the marram grass still rising tall amongst the gritty, earthy sand at the very top of the beach. It is hardy, and it will almost certainly be a permanent fixture all throughout the winter too.

The sun is shining and although it is nowhere near as hot as it had been a few months ago, she can still feel the warmth of its rays on her face. She has not yet tired of the sensation and, in truth, she does not think she will ever tire of it again.

It feels weird to just  _ be _ , to just turn up out in the open.

But there had been no time for them to discuss what they were going to do today, and Waverly cannot decide if she should just have turned up at Nicole’s house.

As it is, it takes her a few tries to get the year right before she spots Nicole, already carrying something Waverly cannot quite discern towards the beach.

Waverly can smell smoke, spotting a thin plume of it drifting lazily upwards from somewhere down below the higher sand dunes.

Waverly makes her way over, finding that her feet carry her quickly but Nicole spots her on her own return trip up the sand.

She beams to see Waverly there, and immediately hurries to meet her.

“Damnit, I wanted to surprise you,” Waverly calls as Nicole approaches, almost at a jog.

The instant they are within reaching distance Nicole’s arms are around her, and Waverly finds herself seeking the same embrace. It is probably the cheesiest thing Waverly has ever experienced in her life, and it makes her so happy she is surprised she has not yet floated away.

They would probably look absurd to an observer, but there is never anyone present on this stretch of beach. Besides which, Waverly would be happy to look so silly because this might be the most romantic moment of her life to date. She would happily repeat it over and over, absurdity be damned.

“I missed you,” Nicole says into Waverly’s ear as she hugs her tight. Then, she laughs boldly. “ _ God _ . Is that stupid?”

Waverly breathes in the smell of her hair.

“If it is then I guess we’re both gonna be idiots together.”

Nicole pulls back. “Is that your way of telling me you missed me too?”

With a shrug, Waverly leans in for a kiss. Before their lips meet, she just manages to say,

“I can think of better ways.”

 

 

 

 

 

“So, I’m thinking beach date,” Nicole says when they finally break apart. “I have a fire going so you won’t be cold later, and I got the food sorted earlier. I figured we could go out - properly out - but I know you like it by the sea.”

Nicole shrugs and Waverly feels her heart swell, thinking as it does that there should be no more space in her chest cavity for it to grow any bigger.

Nicole is right - after years of yearning to see the ocean, Waverly has loved being able to spend time here. Nicole’s house is especially enchanting; Waverly loves how it can be so close to the coastline but so comfortably safe from the searching fingers of the highest tide.

Perhaps in their other world it might be different, but here in San Junipero things like this are safe. Once upon a time, those sorts of details would have taken something from the experience, all little reminders that this place was not quite real. But now, Waverly has something better right in front of her to focus on, and she is happy for something else to take care of the minutiae if it means she gets to live out this kind of dream with Nicole.

Because Nicole has planned a first date on the beach, and that is kind of all Waverly cares about.

They join hands and Nicole takes Waverly to her chosen spot, a little nook sheltered by a few large rock formations to the right and a steep ledge of spongy coastal grass and moss behind them.

Even if stragglers from the city were to turn up, the spot is sheltered from any prying eyes. It is practically their own slice of private beach.

Ever the wilderness explorer, Nicole has set up a small fire and the kindling wood is glowing and popping even as they arrive. The smoke blows away from their spot - and God, it so is typically Nicole to even take wind direction into consideration. The woody, burning scent is mitigated by something else, and Waverly realises that there are dried out pine branches burning too.

“The tide is coming up, but it’s a neap one at the moment,” Nicole explains, before noting Waverly’s blank look and adding, “means it comes up to a lower point. It’ll stop well before our little hideout.”

“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you?” Waverly murmurs, kissing Nicole sweetly on the cheek. “No one has ever done something like this for me before. Thank you, Nicole.”

Nicole meets her lips for a proper kiss before drawing back and grinning impishly.

“Don’t thank me just yet. I also brought a tent.”

Waverly groans. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Oh, I’m not kidding,” Nicole says, devastating grin still firmly in place.

“Is now the right time to tell you that I definitely don’t do camping?”

“That I know. Or, I assumed anyway. But I miss camping a lot, so go on - just humour me and put up the tent with me. It’ll take ten minutes and I just want to use it for shelter when the sun goes in.” Nicole raises her eyebrows pointedly and pitches her voice as if she trying to tempt Waverly. “I brought lots of blankets to snuggle up in.”

Waverly affects a dramatic toss of her head. “You do know how to woo a girl. Of course I’ll do this with you.”

This is a milestone for them both, after all. Waverly had always hated things like hiking and camping, but she knows how it feels to miss the things that made you who you were and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It hurts in its own way to think of Nicole missing things so deeply too.

“Thank you. Besides,” Nicole says as she grabs a bag of what Waverly assumes is tent pegs or poles from the sound it makes. Suddenly, the strange bundle Nicole had been carrying makes sense. “It’s not really proper camping, not when we’ll be gone before midnight.”  

Waverly groans. “Please don’t remind me of stuff like that.”

Nicole gives Waverly’s hand a squeeze, and turns her face for another kiss. “I’m sorry. We have hours, let’s not think of it right now.”

Neither of them seems to want to stop stealing kisses now that it is established that they are not only allowed but are, in fact, encouraged to kiss each other.

As a result, putting up the little tent takes far more than ten minutes. In fairness, this could partly be because Waverly is horrible at the whole process.

Nicole talks Waverly through her assigned role when she is not laughing at her inability to perform it.

In turn, Waverly feigns offence but it is all part of the fun of it.

“I’ve - Nicole stop laughing. I've never done this before - _I said_ _stop laughing you asshole_.”

The tent is in a sad, crumpled little heap, its poles bent into entirely the wrong spaces.  

“Yeah, I think that’s pretty evident,” Nicole says, just about managing to articulate herself between laughter. Waverly can only assume that, ordinarily, she would make moves to help but she is currently close to doubled over as she watches.

It is enough to send Waverly lurching forward into her, pretending to pummel a loose fist at Nicole’s shoulder.

“You’re so,” Waverly sends a fake blow into Nicole, “mean,” another blow, “to me.”

Nicole just goes on laughing, letting Waverly continue her insincere onslaught before pulling her close and dragging her onto a waiting blanket.

Without really knowing how, Waverly finds herself being pulled into Nicole’s lap with two firm hands at her hips. Nicole’s mouth is hot against her own, and with almost no conscious thought Waverly parts her own lips so that Nicole’s tongue can gain an entry it has barely had time to request.

They tangle themselves together and eventually Waverly finds herself pressed back into the blanket, Nicole above her yet again.

It might be the best sensory experience she has ever had, the way the sand (and the blanket) feels beneath her  and the way one of Nicole's legs hooks beautifully between her own. The wide open sky is above her, and she can hear the whoosh of the ocean and the crackling of the fire. Most pervasive of all is the scents of the wet, saltwater sand and the pine smoke.

Nicole’s mouth is beautifully wet, and her tongue and teeth work magic over Waverly’s jaw and throat and, after an indeterminate amount of time has passed, it is only a sense of propriety that compels them to break apart.

Nicole rolls onto her back and they stare skywards in contented silence for a while.

“If we’d had that tent up we’d have gotten away with far more,” Nicole points out a while later, her fingers dancing up and down Waverly’s forearm.

“I think you need to learn to let it go Nicole,” Waverly says seriously, fighting a smile. “Especially if that’s where your mind is heading - no tent I put up is ever going to have the structural integrity for  _ that _ .”

This makes Nicole laugh beautifully, the sound loud and close to Waverly’s ear. The way it rumbles through her is wonderful.

“Fine,” she says, planting a kiss on Waverly’s forehead and wrestling herself into a sitting position. “You win this time, but take notes because there will be a test to follow.”

“I promise I’m going to watch you very, very closely,” Waverly says innocently, tipping a tiny wink that she might even venture to deny at a later date.

Annoyingly, Nicole remains calm and impassive. “I don’t set practical assignments.”

“Hm. We’ll see about that.”

With a chuckle, Nicole sets about repairing Waverly’s damage to the poor tent, and she makes it look frustratingly easy. Admittedly, it is a very basic two-person structure and it does seem to require very little skill to erect.

In fact, Nicole does not even bother to peg it down, but just keeps it in place by piling a few of their bags inside and wedging them into the corners. She upends one beach bag full of blankets and a couple of cushions into the centre of the tent, and makes a show of arranging them until she has made a nest.

And, true to her word, Waverly watches.

She watches Nicole in her tight, dark jeans. She watches Nicole as she bends and twists to angle herself into the tent’s interior. And when Nicole emerges, she implores her to bend down for yet another kiss, because watching it is not enough any more.

It seems impossible that a week ago things had been so different between them and Waverly cannot quite believe she waited so long. She is not quite sure how she had the restraint to do so.

The little tent, once set up properly, looks painfully picturesque with it’s stereotypical pale canvas covering. Nicole has, of course, situated it a safe distance from the fire but even so the little scene warms Waverly’s heart. She cannot remember the last time she had seen something so sweet and earnest.

“Okay,” Nicole says as she straightens up. “You need to look away for the next bit and then I’ll show you it later.”

Waverly dutifully covers her eyes, and although she has always been a little too impatient for surprises, she resists the urge to peek because she does not want to let Nicole down after all the effort she has gone to. She can hear Nicole rustling around in the tent but when she eventually feels Nicole pull her hands away from her face nothing seems to have changed.

She furrows her brow. “What…?”

“Later, okay? You’ll see.”

Waverly smiles and finds herself wishing she could immortalise this moment somehow. She has seen enough of San Junipero to know that they can make the little things stick. The unicorn from the arcade still lives in her apartment, and Nicole had kept the very same pinecone Waverly had picked up from their walk in the woods.

Perhaps if she could take some photos, she could display them somewhere.

The thought alone seems to bring something to fruition because in a way that would once have sent her reeling, she spots something that looks suspiciously like a camera in a bag that had certainly not housed it a moment ago.

She catches Nicole’s attention and gestures.

“Did I just make that happen?”

“Well I certainly didn’t pack it,” Nicole says, fishing the camera out and handing it over. “Feeling sentimental?”

Waverly bats her on the arm for what feels like dozenth time and it hits her just how much she loves this. She loves the dynamic they share and she especially loves how easy it feels.

“ _ Yes _ . Because  _ someone _ put such a lovely, picturesque date together. So don’t be an ass and let me have some photos for my apartment.”

Waverly goes to withdraw her hand but Nicole is faster, grabbing gently at Waverly’s wrist and pulling her in for a long, deep kiss.

“Only if you take some for my place too.”

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly manages to split her photos between the rather expensive-looking digital camera and one of the popular polaroid cameras everyone had back in the days before Mictian. She also takes a few selfies on her phone, changing her lockscreen as soon as she gets a perfect, almost candid shot of Nicole mid laughter as Waverly fixes her lips at Nicole’s cheek.  

All the same, the pictures are limited because darkness sets in early. It is a certain reminder that winter is creeping up on them now. They are nevertheless happily bathed in the orange glow of the little fire, and even if the ambiance does not work entirely well on camera it is just a good excuse to put the devices away.

With their stomachs growling, they eat their food half-in the tent with only their feet still sticking out onto the sand. As they eat, they watch the tide inch steadily up the beach, the water almost inky black in appearance by the time the stars are out in full force.

“Okay, I can give you the grand reveal now,” Nicole announces proudly, setting aside a little container full of salad. “Are you ready?”

“So ready,” Waverly says, shifting in her spot as though that might better illustrate the sentiment.

Nicole reaches for something at the very entrance of the tent, fumbling slightly for barely a second.

“Right then. Three...two...one… _ ta da! _ ”

Something gives a little plasticky click and multiple strings of fairy lights blink into life.

Waverly finds herself gaping.

Nicole must have worked out a way to temporarily attach them to the frame of the tent, somehow hiding them amongst the lining so that the surprise would not be spoiled.

“I’m so glad that worked or it would have been such a letdown.”

“It looks like a wonderland.”

Nicole smiles. “I maybe wouldn’t go that far but I’m glad you like it.”

“I need a picture,” Waverly says, hopping up and stumbling slightly on the sand. She had kicked her shoes off hours before and she feels the cool sand between her bare toes.

Nicole rolls her eyes but makes to get up before Waverly shakes her head.

“ _ No  _ silly. I obviously want you in the picture too.”

Waverly ignores any protests about being in pictures alone and Nicole, bless her, relents quickly. She pulls a sweet, twee smile as Waverly first tries out a little instant polaroid and then takes a couple of pictures on her phone too.

She drops the little instant photo into her bag with the others to develop and returns to her spot right at Nicole’s side.  

Nicole has already busied herself with pulling a thermos out of the bag of food, pouring tea into two enamel camping mugs. Waverly wraps her cooling fingers around the cup Nicole passes to her, admiring the aesthetic of the thing.

“I’m loving the detail,” she says, being mostly sincere but partly playful too.

“Only the best,” Nicole replies, picking up on the tone and matching it.

It is, perhaps, a way to say things without taking such a light moment and making it serious.

“Although, I have to say. I haven’t been on a date in a while, so my standards might be slightly low.”

“ _ Ouch _ . Pretty mean of you to say when I haven’t been on a date in a while either.”

“Well then,” Waverly says, deciding to drop the joke, “that just makes this all the more impressive.”

“Plus it kind of sets the bar for you.”

“Oh my  _ God _ I was trying not to be sarcastic this time.” Waverly nudges Nicole with her shoulder and makes her tea slosh dangerously in her mug.

Nicole holds her free hand up. “Okay, okay - truce? Before I scald myself through my jeans.”

“Agreed,” Waverly says, dropping her head to Nicole’s shoulder. She is used to resting it there now and knows just how to get comfortable, like the two of them are jigsaw puzzle pieces being pressed together.

“And in seriousness,” Nicole adds, “there is no pressure whatsoever for you to reciprocate. I did this because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return.”

“I want to,” Waverly murmurs, listening to a stray gull calling out somewhere overhead, “but I think this is going to be a tough act to follow.”

“Then just don’t think too much about it, yeah? Remember what we’ve always said - we always have fun just being together. I stopped caring what exactly I passed my time here doing once I met you. It sounds cheesy, but I don’t care so long as I’m passing that time with you.”

“But you put so much thought into everything - ”

“So do you Waves, I know you do. Just because you don’t say it doesn’t mean I can’t tell.”

Nicole slips their hands together, linking their fingers, and Waverly marvels at how every part of them fits together so well.

“It just works, doesn’t it?” Waverly says and she does not have to say what she means. Nicole understands.

“Yes, it does.”

Nicole kisses her again then, and there is a direction to the kiss that wasn’t there before.

While Waverly’s whole body had been swimming all evening - all week, in fact - that kiss sets off an insistent throb in her belly. There is expectation behind the kiss, and a promise too.

She knows what is coming and she makes a point of setting their cups down on the sand outside.

Nicole’s tongue finds its way between Waverly’s lips again and her hand settles on Waverly’s thigh.

Waverly's fingers dance over Nicole’s back and slip under her shirt, just raking lightly up and down. She feels Nicole shiver beneath her touch and feels strangely pleased with herself.

She bunches up the shirt in a wordless permission to take it off.

There is no one around and they can hide themselves away in the little nest Nicole has made for them in the tent.

Or else, they can go to Nicole's house if they can bear to break apart for long enough.

Waverly does not especially care, so long as she gets to touch Nicole.

Nicole cuts their kiss short and leans her forehead against Waverly’s.

“Do you want to?” she asks, voice strained like she is coiled tight and loathe to cease kissing Waverly for even a minute.

“Didn’t I make it clear last time?” Waverly says, huffing a little laugh.

Nicole, however, does not resume kissing her as Waverly expected her to.

“I think I need to know for sure,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a bit - I think I just still can’t believe you want me like this.”

Waverly feels her heart twist and mentally kicks herself for taking so long to be truthful about her feelings.

She will take as long as is needed to convince Nicole that her hesitation had been internal, and nothing at all to do with the woman sitting beside her.

Waverly kisses her briefly and then says, “well then, you ask me however many times you need because I know I took my sweet time about it. But know that my answer always will be yes. Unequivocally Nicole, yes.”

Perhaps a dam breaks in Nicole then, because it certainly feels as though something gives way inside of Waverly. She is telling herself this as much as she is telling Nicole, but she knows in that moment that there is nothing she does not want when it comes to the fledgling, new-found thing between them.

With whatever resistance Nicole had built up suddenly fading away, her lips find Waverly in a bruising kiss and Waverly bites her teeth down lightly to keep the pressure between them building for longer.

They part long enough for Waverly to pull clumsily at Nicole’s shirt and get it over her head, and in the name of expediency Nicole does the same with Waverly’s sweater. On instinct, they retreat further into the makeshift little blanket fort, and Nicole somehow retains the presence of mind to keep the outside world at bay by drawing the tent closed. 

Doing something like this has never once entered Waverly’s head before, but knowing that there is almost no chance of them being discovered wipes any shred of doubt from her mind. 

In truth, she does not think she has the restraint to get herself back to the house anyway. 

Nicole gently arranges Waverly back against the blankets, and her fingers play at the waistband of her pants. They drift to the button and back, toying playfully at the sensitive skin of Waverly’s belly as she does. 

She is unhurried now, they both are because they know they have the time to be.

It is not enough time, of course, but it is more time than they had the week before.

Both times during the week before, they had wanted to do everything and experience everything in the slim space before midnight.

Tonight, Waverly can feel the leisurely glide of Nicole’s hands as they take the time to explore, first skimming low over her stomach and then drifting up, palms flat, towards the seam of her bra. Bending forward, Nicole drags her mouth over Waverly’s sternum, sucking and just stopping before the pressure bruises. Waverly feels the sensation everywhere at once and it draws a wild, untempered moan from the back of her throat. 

Even now, with most of their clothes between their bodies and all that touching and exploring and learning to go, Waverly knows what is to come will eclipse almost everything else that has come before. There is only Champ and if he was a matchstick then Nicole is the moonlight. 

The ocean swirls and surges somewhere outside in the distance and to the sound of this heady soundtrack, they  _ touch _ . 

 

 

 

 

 

They draw the tent open again after, half dressed once more and with blankets piled atop them. 

They lay curled together with their heads at the lip of the tent, the better to stare up at the indigo sky and let this new feeling of peace wash over them.

It is a serenity Waverly does not think she has ever felt before. Like the stars peppering the heavens, Waverly sees the possibility for a future where once there had only been empty blackness. 

Nicole circles her fingers over Waverly’s bare shoulder.

“Learnt your constellations yet?” she asks, voice quiet and dreamy. The mere act of speech seems like an effort and Waverly rather understands the sentiment. 

Even so, Waverly’s heart sinks. Still, Nicole does not know that Waverly can do nothing of the sort. 

“Not just yet,” Waverly murmurs, failing to keep a note of sadness from her voice. She winces inwardly. She had not meant to let her emotions through so easily. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, of course you didn’t,” Waverly says quickly, trying to sound as earnest as possible. 

None of this is Nicole’s fault. 

“You’re sad. I can feel it,” Nicole says plainly. “Talk about it, if you want to. Maybe I can help.”

“Lord I wish you could,” Waverly sighs before reevaluating her statement. “No. Actually that’s not fair. You are helping. You’re helping so much more than I can say. You’re making me happy when I’m here, and that’s making me happy when I’m at home too. My other home.” 

She has two homes now and it is time she admitted it out loud. 

“Ah,” Nicole says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think when I asked if you’d learned about the stars.” 

Feeling suddenly brave, Waverly says, “You don’t have to be sorry. And I’m sick now of treading on eggshells. Will you tell me about you? I know we keep saying more than we’re supposed to but I’m greedy Nicole. I don’t just want a taste. I want to know where you grew up, where you live now...let’s just be normal yeah? For tonight?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Aren’t you?” Waverly asks gently. Nicole has never said as much, but Waverly can tell she is tired of being in the dark too. It has never been about pushing the other to share something they might not wish to divulge - it is about showing that their hearts are open to receive each other’s  _ other reality _ too - in whatever form that takes. 

“I’m sure about everything when it comes to you,” Nicole admits before taking a deep breath. “The thing is, what’s going on with me - it’s kind of unbelievable. And I don’t want you think I’m lying or making fun of you. But I don’t want to  _ actually _ lie either. I don’t know if that makes sense.” 

“Well, what if I told you it was the same for me?”

“Then I guess I’d say we should just go for it.”

Waverly presses a kiss to Nicole’s neck. “Sure?”

“Always Waves.” 

“Do you want me to go first?”

“No, it’s okay - you asked me first. I’m happy to, it’s just - give me a second yeah?” 

“Take all the time you need,” Waverly whispers. “You’re being so brave. We both are.” 

Nicole inhales deeply and, eventually, she speaks. When she does, however, it is Waverly who forgets how to breathe. 

“So, I’m holed up in a hospital right now in a place in Canada - small little region, it’s called the Ghost River Triangle. I grew up one province over in BC, but I took a gig in a city in the Triangle right after I qualified as a cop. And at first, things were perfect. Then, after a year or so, I don’t know what happened really - just that it changed. Shit just started getting weird. There were all these incidents -  _ so _ many deaths - and they were all unexplained. None of it felt right - I know how this will sound but some of it didn’t even feel  _ human _ . And every time I took something to our Sheriff, he just kept dismissing it until I thought I was going crazy. 

“I know it was wrong of me, but I got suspicious and I started keeping notes on the side. It was just like, someone had opened a Pandora’s Box or something and every weird event crawled out of the woodwork at once. 

“We kept getting these people pulled into the hospital. I know you’re probably not going to believe what I’m about to say, but none of them had faces. I don’t mean they were decapitated - their heads were there and everything, they just didn’t have their  _ faces _ . Like the skin was smooth but their face was gone. We were all completely stumped, but it was almost like the higher-ups didn’t want to know the truth.”

Nicole pauses, and Waverly feels the way her breath quickens. Waverly’s own heart had been beating ten to the dozen since the story began. 

“Nicole?”

“Sorry, it’s just - I keep thinking I’m at peace with it but the truth is that I’m not. The thing is, more and more people kept suffering so I kept following leads.” A note of bitterness creeps into Nicole’s voice. “I was stupid, thinking I could change anything. Something - I can’t even say it was a someone because it wasn’t - caught up with me while I was staking out a hotspot. My bosses didn’t know I was there. I went off the clock and off the record. Stupid, stupid  _ idiot _ .”

At this, Nicole’s voice cracks and Waverly hears the sadness break her. One hot, angry tear trickles down the side of Nicole’s face and onto Waverly’s cheek.

Nicole reaches up a soft finger and brushes it away. 

“Sorry, like I said. It’s stupid.” 

Still, Waverly can feel her own head spinning at Nicole’s story and there is so much that needs to be said, but Nicole is suffering and she has to wait for her to say her piece first. It wouldn’t be fair to drop the bombshell until Nicole has worked this all out of her system. 

“I know you’re anything but an idiot Nicole. You’re not stupid for caring then and you’re certainly not stupid for caring now.” 

“Thank you,” Nicole says, sounding so earnest that it breaks Waverly’s heart. “So uh, this thing. It looked like a person in some ways, but there was no humanity left inside it. I don’t know how, but I knew instantly that it was the thing that had been putting people in the hospital. I felt when it tried to steal my face too. I don’t know how to describe it. Like something was scratching at me beneath my skin. 

“I was scared. Shit, I was so scared Waverly. So I fought back. I don’t know how but I started to get away but this...this  _ thing _ . It tried to keep me and when I kept fighting it just - please don’t think I’m playing you for a fool but it bit me. On my arm. I know you’ve seen the marks.” 

At this, Nicole extricates her right arm from beneath the blankets. In the dying light of the fire they can both see the strange, puckered marks on Nicole’s skin. Of course, Waverly had noticed them last time they had slept together but it had not been something she wanted to press. 

“It just knocked me for six. I suppose I’m lucky really that someone heard the disturbance and found me bleeding out. They got me to the hospital and I got patched up. At first, they thought it was fine. But my bloods kept coming back weird. Of course, no one believed me when I said what had happened, and no one could identify the bite marks. They were looking for it to be an animal but I know it was no damn animal. I didn’t dream it. It was like...like a person, a  _ demon _ . A demon wearing the robes of one of those old Victorian widows. 

“Over time, I just kept getting sicker and sicker. They couldn’t find a cause, only these weird blood results. Too much iron, steadily building over time and never responding to any treatment. That was years ago and it’ll uh - it’ll kill me eventually. Unless they can invent a cure in the next couple of months. Or weeks. And God. I know how this sounds. I know you’ll probably think I’m crazy and you’ll run a mile.

“But I could have just told you I have some horrible illness and it would make more sense. But that’s not the truth and I want to be truthful with you. I  _ swear _ I’m not lying to you. I swear it Wave and - ”

Nicole stops abruptly because, for the first time since all of this began, she finally dares to look at Waverly’s face. She looks and finds Waverly crying silently and fighting hard to keep the tears in check. 

“Baby?” she asks, voice urgent and, at any other time, the nickname would have sent Waverly soaring. “What is it, did I say too much? I really do promise I’d never lie to you like this…”

“I know you’re not lying Nicole,” Waverly says, voice shaking and barely intelligible. “I know because I’m from the Ghost River Triangle too.” 

 

 

 

 

 

It takes a while for Waverly to get her emotions in check, but eventually she is able to tell her own story.

After every fear she had silently harboured, terrified at what she might tell Nicole about her own reason for being in San Junipero, she finds she can tell her own truth for the very first time.

It is a release - almost akin to the feeling of Nicole’s fingers working her over the edge - to say the words for the first time and to also be believed. 

And after what Waverly had done, listening without any interruption, Nicole does the same in return. She holds Waverly close when she cries and she dots kisses at her hairline when the words are too difficult to speak.

“Breathe baby,” Nicole whispers. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

But they both know this is not true, no matter how deeply Nicole wishes it to be. 

A quick glance at one of their cell phones shows the time as eleven o’clock, and they know they cannot be too slow. 

So Waverly pushes herself to finish her own tale and when she does, Nicole puts her lips to Waverly’s ear and whispers a hundred sincere apologies.

From anyone else, they would be hard to accept. But Nicole understands and it hurts but it also heals too. 

“It feels so strange,” Nicole says eventually. “I can’t quite wrap my head around it.”

“I don’t know if I can process it either. Don’t you think...doesn’t it feel like we were destined to meet?”

“I felt it before,” Nicole admits, “and now I feel it even more deeply.”

Waverly works to hold onto her emotions, but they get the better of her and the tears come again. Nicole hushes her. 

“It’s okay Waves. I don’t know how but it’s all gonna be okay.”  

“I just…” Waverly tries to speak but it comes out garbled. “Fuck, Nicole. Doesn’t this make you sad? Isn’t it unbearably sad? We could have come so close to meeting back then. We could have done things normal people do.”

“My first date attempt has some insecurity issues right now.”

In spite of herself, Waverly tries to laugh. “This is the best first date of my life. And it’s as full of happy memories as it could be - this conversation won’t change that. In time, I think it’ll become a happy memory too. But right now it hurts. I can physically feel it hurting. Can’t you?”

“I can. Jesus Waves. I really, really can.” 

“I just wish we’d met before it happened. I know I shouldn’t think like that because it’s pointless but - I think maybe we could have saved each other.”

“I think maybe that’s what we’re doing now Wave. I think maybe we’re saving each other.”

They both cry again then. They cry together for what they have here and what they could have had in another world entirely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been so much fluff recently!!!!! Is everyone okay with that? No trepidation at the number of chapters left or anything? Cool cool cool just wondering that's all...
> 
> Sidenote that I'm hoping to publish another smaller multi-chapter fic this week or next. It's much more focussed on cheesy/fluffy meet-cute type stuff (no angst), and it's been fun to write so I'm excited to share it! 
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for reading and even a two-word comment makes my day so please drop by below if you have a spare second. Again, interactions on social media are also always so very much appreciated -
> 
> stan/bad convention photos twitter: @rositabustiiios  
> tumblr: birositabustillos  
> ko-fi: www.ko-fi.com/alissawrites 
> 
> Until next week, everyone take care of yourselves.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, 'trouble in paradise' is a literal statement...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to take this opportunity to say a huuuge thank you for all the love on the last couple of chapters...because y'all are going to probably hate me from now on for a bit. 
> 
> Whenever I try and write AUs that actually combine more than one show/movie etc., I do try and broadly follow the plot progression of at least one as best I can. With this one, I wanted to try and follow the plot of San Junipero in how Wave/Nicole's relationship pans out vs Kelly/Yorkie. And in the original Black Mirror episode, this is where the angst/tension/conflict starts up. So I'm following that blueprint and yeaaah, I'm sorry about that. 
> 
> I'm actually unbelievably nervous about posting the next few chapters in case you guys super duper hate me/this fic now, so I'm not gonna say anything else! However if you fancy assuaging my fears please leave a comment!

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

 

A few weeks go by and Wynonna studiously does not mention the decision she must make regarding Waverly’s access to San Junipero.

Almost everyone else who visits privately follows Doc’s lead of assuring her it has not been forgotten, that it is as the forefront of Wynonna’s mind even when she is monster-hunting, and Waverly cannot tell if they have conferred or if they all simply had the same idea.  

In her own mind, Waverly has reached an impasse.

The frustration of having every decision ripped from her does, sometimes, have the dual effect of bringing about a sense of peace. She cannot change anything, and sometimes when difficult decisions are out of her hands it is serene to put her faith in those she loves, knowing that they love her back just as fiercely.

Waverly does not wish to miss out on moments with her family any more than is already the case. She cannot actively participate but she lives through the updates she is given and the moments they share with her, even if the events they recount are almost always day-old news at the very best.

But increasingly, the longer she and Nicole spend exploring this new and tender thing between them, the more Waverly wishes to spend extra time in San Junipero. It is endlessly frustrating to always be on the clock, to know that, at midnight, she will blink and Nicole will be gone.

These days, she spends her time in hospital daydreaming of a happy medium where she splits her time more evenly between her two sources of joy. Because now, it is not just the freedom to be active and entertained in San Junipero, it is the freedom to simply engage with someone who makes her so happy.

Nicole and Waverly stop actively rushing to fill their Saturday evenings with _something_ that happens _somewhere_ \- the park, the cinema, a bar. They start simply taking walks or watching movies together as the good weather finally caves to the first stirrings of winter.

This is partly because they can talk so much more freely now, and because they can spend their time being entirely honest about who they are.

Nicole had smoothed out the worries within Waverly like creases from a shirt, insisting that it didn’t matter to her how Waverly was stuck in a strange form of stasis. It didn’t make her think any less of her. _After all_ , Nicole had asked, _why would it_?

 _It only matters because it hurts Waves,_ she had said. _I care because it is horrible and it makes you sad, but it also_ doesn’t _matter in the sense that it doesn’t change how I see you or how I feel. This, here, is the real you, I know that, okay?_

And Waverly had known it all along, that Nicole would say the right thing and still care for her all the same. This is just the same when Waverly finally braves the subject of this being her first relationship with a woman.

She is easing into it, the longer they have together and Nicole helps her every step of the way. She talks about her own realisation process at, admittedly, a much younger and more formative age. She talks about the one, _one!_ , time she had tried to date a man, she talks about how she had managed over time to unlearn all the wrong things society had taught her.

But still, for all they talk, Waverly does not mention the current quandary at home regarding her access to the programme. She cannot say why she keeps it a secret, only that she does not especially want to get her hopes up further and she does not want to get Nicole’s hopes up at all.

Nicole already spends increasingly longer hours here, and Waverly knows that even if Nicole doesn’t say it, she longs to see more of Waverly too.

Nicole has a cautiously tentative friendship brewing with someone who runs one of the little bistros they have started to frequent when they wander through a quiet borough of the city. It makes Waverly happy to know that Nicole does not have to spend her time here alone, and it feels far more organic to know that they have the potential for wider circles here too.

She likes Nicole so much - is starting to suspect that she might even feel more than that - but she knows they need to try and extend their sense of ‘normality’ here too, especially if they are to start being here together for longer. Waverly does not want anything to threaten the buoyant, happy way they make each other feel, least of all cabin fever.

On top of this, Waverly knows that there are secrets that Nicole is guarding too - she clams up at mention of the progression of her own health, and Waverly knows she is holding back on talking about any medical updates.

It is hard sometimes, knowing that Nicole is holding her own feelings in, but Waverly learns it as a trait of hers as they continue spending time together. It is not, Waverly realises a few weeks on, that Nicole does not trust her, it is that Nicole puts too much pressure on her own shoulders.

And regardless of this, Waverly learns to tell when Nicole has had a bad week anyway. She is more withdrawn, even though she tries not show that she feels down. Her eyes are always unfocussed and elsewhere, even as she tries so valiantly to pretend that things are okay. It makes Waverly’s stomach twist that Nicole seems to feel like she cannot burden anyone else with the things that weigh her own heart down.

But as they learn each other Waverly learns how Nicole accepts comfort best, and she learns to give it to her in the ways she needs.

Sometimes, she needs Waverly’s arms around her, holding her tight and keeping her safe. Sometimes she needs physicality that burns a tiny bit hotter. Sometimes, she just needs a distraction; dinner somewhere nice, a movie night, or a drive around town in the rain.

They spend one stormy evening baking and eating an unholy amount of brownies, just as they had discussed doing months before, and it does the healing for them as their best medicine begins to take increasingly unexpected forms.

Sometimes, it is all five hours spent beneath the bedsheets, and sometimes it is brownie batter flicked deliberately over each other’s cheeks and powdered sugar brandished, weapon-like between them.

This is how they learn to heal together, even when they have had bad days in hospital that they do not particularly want to talk about. And, in turn, silence stops being about keeping secrets and starts being about respecting boundaries.

As they decide what becoming _a couple_ means and whether it is what they want (and what they realistically and sensibly need) they also understand that they owe each other everything and nothing, and that includes health updates and decisions about medical treatment.

They are okay with that.

For almost a month, Waverly genuinely believes she is okay with it.

Then, suddenly, she isn’t. Suddenly, everything changes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2011.  
**Visit 20.0****

After a few weeks, they make a pact that at least every other visit they actually need to leave the house.

It is so tempting just to stay locked up in one of their homes, falling together in one of their beds (or one of their couches. Or as on one particularly memorable occasion in Nicole’s ample bathtub).

There is nothing wrong with doing that.

There is _definitely_ nothing wrong as far as Waverly is concerned.

But Nicole raises the point that they spend the rest of their lives inside, because at present she is seldom well enough to even potter around the hospital grounds. She had told Waverly that same week that she spent a lot of time sleeping these days. She said no more than that but she did not have to; the acrid bite to her voice was enough. She hated it and Waverly understood on a visceral, unspoken level.

Waverly does not disagree that they should see daylight for a while, no matter how short-lived it is as the year slowly and gradually comes to a close not only in their first homes, but in San Junipero too.

So as the poor weather sets in, they find themselves eating dinner at the same little cafe-bistro in the city. They alternate between meeting at Waverly’s apartment and Nicole’s house and either walk or drive into town.

The cafe could be generously described as _artisanal_ , or more accurately deemed _hipster_ , even when they visit pre-2010s. The longer they spend together, the less adventurous they get in their time travel, because they both begin to feel more like they are at home when they are together in a time before either of them grew ‘sick’.

(They only ever use this word with air quotes and a heavy dose of sarcasm. They are not sick, not in the conventional sense, but there doesn’t seem to be any better shorthand. Sometimes they say they are cursed, because it is true at least for Waverly but it does not lend itself to public conversation and it somehow feels too dramatic to be entirely useful).

Still, the routine between them feels nice.

It has been a long time since Waverly has been able to say that about anything remotely deemed routine.

For too long, routine has meant medication at certain times, the same television shows starting at the same times every day. The same daily change of sheets, the same cleaning rota for the rest of her room - all of it is _the same_.

But here, the same does not feel bad.

More of the same feels safe and familiar. This is, she knows, in part because they can break their routine whenever they wish to do so. They have free will and agency, and their choice to do these things (and, importantly, to do them together) makes all the difference.

When it comes down to it, they just really like the cafe - even if it is hipster.

Or rather, it is pre-hipster in 2011.

It serves some of the best sandwiches they have found in all the eateries they have tried so far, and there is a mezze plate which Waverly has declared truly _would_ be to die for.

The black humour caught Nicole unawares and had creased her up entirely.

For her own part, Nicole likes the establishment’s unspecified coffee blend better than most of the other independent places they have visited

So they look past the mishmash decor and the way the owners have put old metal garden tables inside and, in many instances, teamed them up with an array of old chintz-style armchairs. They ignore the mix of succulents and art deco lamps resting on each table. And, in truth, they eventually come to find the choice of interior design homely, simply because it becomes familiar to them.

It is one of the few places that does not seem to change with the times in such a radical or drastic way, which gives Nicole cause for remark on their third or fourth visit.

It had allowed Waverly the opportunity to look her in the eye and seriously declare, “hipster has no expiration date, Nicole”.

This had set Nicole off laughing for the second time that night, right after the mezze plate incident.

Waverly loves to remember Nicole like that in the dead hours between Saturdays. She loves to remember her laughing so freely. And so perhaps - if the truth really _were_ to be told - that is why they like the little cafe so much. They have spent so much time connecting to each other there.

It houses a lot of happy memories and, along with the good food, it makes the perfect Saturday night haunt.

It is fairly off the beaten track, and so stays quiet but not entirely dead.

_“Well, that’s not entirely fair,” Nicole had pointed out in a hushed tone a few weeks earlier when Waverly had observed as much._

_It had taken Waverly a few seconds to divine Nicole’s meaning and when it had finally clicked she had gasped and nudged Nicole’s shin under the table with the toe of her boot._

_“_ Nicole _! You can’t say something like that.”_

 _“Eh, whatever,” Nicole had replied with a disaffected shrug, charitably ignoring how Waverly had made the same joke herself. “I’m practically in the same boat_.”

In honesty it was likely that most of the other customers were permanent residents, or were at least on long-term leases. Most of the ones with the short stay permits like Waverly’s all flocked to the bars right in the centre of town. There was no shortage of choice, and San Junipero had helpfully laid out an eclectic variation of bars together - the kinds that no one would normally expect to find on the same street.

In the quieter areas there are often people who have had more time to explore. Those like Waverly who have been visiting a few months, or those like Nicole who visit for increasingly longer periods at a time. Nicole had not been wrong in what she had said, because over time they had both learned to tell newbies and fleeting tourists from everyone else.

It was never mentioned to the people in question, of course, but the two of them sometimes commented on their suspicions when they were safely ensconced in Nicole’s car again.

But even this keen observation could not change the fact that Nicole veered wildly between joking about her predicament and not mentioning it at all. From a visit a few weeks back, when they had ordered takeout and watched _The Martian_ together, it had been obvious that the depth of sadness which Nicole felt towards her own situation still shocks her.

On more than one occasion she had told Waverly, _I thought I was handling it better than this. I should be handling it better than this now_.

She seemed to think that having years to get used to something meant you could, with a bit of will and determination, get used to anything at all.

But Waverly personally suspected that their circumstances were too unorthodox to ever entirely come to terms with.

Here, they deviated in their points of view but only, Waverly thought, because Nicole asked too much of herself.

_“No one would hold it against you that you’re sad,” she had pointed out one night. “You’re sad because you’re human. You feel things Nicole, and that’s alright.”_

_Waverly had said this because everyone, on some level, felt things. But Nicole felt things more deeply than anyone Waverly had ever met. It was a heavy burden for someone like her, and Waverly just wanted to help._

_Nicole had only sighed and said, “sometimes I wish I didn’t.”_

_“I know, I know,” Waverly had soothed. “And I so wish I could take the pain away. But I also need you to know that that big, tender heart of yours is one of the things that drew me in first. I don’t think you’d be Nicole without it.”_

_Nicole had kissed her temple then and said nothing more for a good, long while. In turn, Waverly had done her the courtesy of ignoring the tears on Nicole’s cheeks._

_Nicole was proud sometimes. Most the time, actually._

_Waverly had learned that too._

_And she did not for a second believe that Nicole would expect anyone else to come to terms with their sorrow. It was simply something she asked of herself._

And so, on the nights that they sit in the cafe, they mitigate some of the sadness together. Sometimes it is with black humour, but more often than not it is by making plans.

There is still a wealth of things to do in San Junipero and they work through their ideas together.

For every plan they make, Waverly finds herself wishing even more strongly that she had met Nicole in the time before. This is primarily because Nicole makes her feel a sense of completion she had not even realised she wanted until she found it. But on a more surface level it is because Nicole always manages to feel like a catalyst.

Waverly might be the planner but Nicole seems to be one who makes sure everything actually happens.

In fact, it sometimes feels as though she is pressing to make sure they do everything - almost at once. No plan is made too far in the future, everything has its moment for fruition. It seems to be Nicole’s way of ensuring no dream or desire becomes to distant as to be lofty, unachievable, or even forgotten. It seems to be how she gets things done.

It never used to be this way, but things have changed recently.

Waverly supposes that this is just the kind of person Nicole is; always moving and always reaching for more and for better.

It fits with her story of becoming a cop against all odds.

(Indeed when she finds out that Nicole’s parents were resistant to her joining the Academy, Waverly makes the joke about it being a grittier, more artsy version of _Zootopia_ and Nicole rolls her eyes.

“I so wish I’d never heard that before.”

Waverly pouts and only half seriously says, “but I thought it was so original.”

Nicole manages to pull a sympathetic face between chuckles and then gladly kisses Waverly’s pout away.

“Does it help if I say you’re cuter with it than the others?”

“I _suppose_.”)

It also means that they have a lot of fun and that there is always something to look forward to.

Of course, all Waverly truly needs to look forward to her visits to San Junipero is to know that Nicole will be there.

But all the same, Nicole takes the time to ensure that everything they do is the right balance for the two of them. It is easy when they pick things that intersect their interests or are simple pleasures - trips to a mall (reserved, of course, for the eighties or nineties: it is a weird sightseeing trip of sorts) or follow up movie theatre excursions, for example. The rest of the time they compromise because Waverly still isn’t especially outdoorsy and Nicole has relatively little interest in checking out museums or art galleries.

Still, she has taken Waverly to the same museum twice in past weeks, holding her hand as they wander round and Waverly takes her sweet time reading about everything in the display cases.

It is strange to go in the evenings, and it is something Waverly would love to be able to do in the daytime too. Perhaps she will get the chance some day. She reads all the information with an awareness that they are counting down the minutes and so she does not get to see all she wants in one go.

Normally, five hours would be a short museum trip, but in San Junipero she does not want to _only_ spend time in the museum. She does not want Nicole to be bored.

Plus, she wants to spend time wrapped up in Nicole too.

Hence, the multiple trips in five weeks.  

After both of their other visits they have ended up at their cafe afterwards and tonight - their third trip to the same museum - is no exception.

“Thank you for going again,” Waverly says when Nicole sits down with their drinks. “I know it’s not your idea of fun.”

“Hey,” Nicole says as she smiles, “it’s your idea of fun and that’s fine with me. It’s a nice thing to do on a rainy Saturday, and we almost finished it this time. Only the top floor to go. We didn’t _have_ to leave, you know. I reckon we could just have done it if we’d stayed.”

“I know,” Waverly says, stirring her tea. “But I feel bad if we don’t do something for you too.”

Nicole chuckles. “I promise you it’s fine.”

“Oh?” Waverly says looking up from her tea and peering owlishly at Nicole from beneath her lashes. “So you’re not bothered if I say ‘thank you’ properly in a bit then?”

“ _Well_ ,” Nicole counters slowly, deliberate in her refusal to give Waverly a rise, “I didn’t necessarily say _that_.”

“Good. Because it’s kind of not really a selfless ‘thanks’, is it?”

“I mean,” Nicole’s smirk shifts into an amused grin. “I do love a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“That’s funny really,” Waverly says, returning the smile, “because I’ve been thinking just the same.”

 

 

 

 

 

They only stay at the cafe as long as it takes to eat.

They are both equally eager to make it home. Once their plates are clear, they take the bus back to the coast and brave the short but increasingly bracing walk back to Nicole’s house.

Both of them acknowledge that using Waverly’s apartment would be more expedient and Nicole in particular would be more than happy to do so. Waverly, however, prefers the ambiance of (and the shower in) Nicole’s house.

“I just think it’s really great how we’ve already found this balance,” Waverly explains when they arrive back.

“Mmhm,” Nicole says.

“Like, I don’t know. I get that you were kind of joking when you said about it being _mutually beneficial_ \- ”

“Wasn’t joking - ”

“Well _no_ , obviously you weren’t,” Waverly amends with a sigh that is pitched perhaps a little on the high side, “but it was kind of in a joking context...”

With a malcontented little huff, Nicole steps back slightly and removes her lips from Waverly’s throat, a beautiful bruise blooming in their wake.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should worry,” she says playfully, breaking Waverly out of her odd, roving thought process.

“Worry?” Waverly asks blankly. “Why?”

“Baby, are you aware you’re a bit of a talker?” Nicole asks, smoothing her hand up and down Waverly’s bare side. There is no malice in her voice, only fondness, and in any other circumstance and with any other person a modicum of insecurity might have crept past Waverly’s defences.

“Well I was _trying_ to pay us both a compliment,” she retorts, pretending to be put out.

“I know and trust me Waves I really and truly appreciate the sentiment but…”

“Later?” Waverly says sheepishly.

“Definitely later,” Nicole agrees, flitting a hand into the pretty shower stall with all the artsy-looking frosted glass. “Besides, I think the water’s finally warmed up.”

“ _Perfect_.”

 

 

 

 

 

After the combined force of the heat of the shower and the heat of their touches leaves their skin pink and their chests heaving, Nicole wraps them both in an enormous, fluffy white towel.

She dotes on Waverly with endless soft kisses, the kind that make Waverly feel as though her head is spinning.

It goes on until they are both largely dry, and then Nicole drags them both to her bedroom, leaving the towel on the floor where it drops.

She crawls onto the bed first, hands still gently guiding from where they sit, splayed at Waverly’s waist.

She arranges them both with ease, her on her back and Waverly on her knees - lined up perfectly although for a moment Waverly is a little too dense to understand what Nicole means to do.

Then, her hands glide down Waverly’s body and fix on her hips, dragging her down and against a hot, waiting mouth. Nicole’s lips are soft and her tongue is practised and eager.

Waverly gives a startled cry at the new angle and all the fresh sensations it brings with it. Her hands scramble for the headboard as her knees go weak in a way she had once thought was only a cliché.

She has lost count, now, of the number of times she has flown to heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They lay together in a quiet, almost content acceptance that midnight is nearing. It is never okay, but they are together and, for now, they are sated and maybe one day it will be alright.

Waverly plays with a stray strand of Nicole’s hair, eventually tucking it behind her ear and revealing jewellery she had not noticed before. It is just a simple, single piercing at the top of Nicole’s ear but Waverly had never seen her wear much more than a couple of rings and a simple necklace.

“This is new,” Waverly states quietly. “Unless I really _am_ going crazy.”

Nicole flashes her a strange, mingled expression. She looks half-sheepish, half-casual as she shrugs and says,

“It’s not ‘real’. You know, in the sense that I don’t have it at home. I never really cared about piercing my ears here,” she skims her forefinger over her earlobes, “but my mom got it done when I was young. I don’t know though, I was always kind of interested in the other piercings but it wasn’t really compatible with work. Figured I’d try it out here since it’s kind of a non-permanent, no pain, no scarring deal. It’s just like hey, why not try all this stuff now before I go?”

It is obvious from the way Nicole tenses as soon as she has spoken that she has said more than she intended.

It is this reaction more so than Nicole’s choice of words that alerts Waverly to something amiss.

“What do you mean ‘before you go’? You can keep doing all that stuff in San Junipero no matter what.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Nicole says, but it is without conviction and Waverly senses she is being evasive but, perhaps, does not have the heart to do so. She convinces neither of them, rather as though she has not tried to.

In a sudden bout of nervousness, Waverly feels her hackles rise instinctually.

“So what did you mean by it then?”

When the words come out of her mouth, Waverly hears how defensive she sounds and wishes immediately that she could take it back.

“I’m uh, I’m not technically signed up to become a permanent resident. You know, when I…”

Nicole does not bring herself to say the actual word, and Waverly cannot say which thought is the worst one to her. The news hits her like ice cascading from her head down and for a moment she is genuinely rendered speechless. She is still a little shocked by the turn of the conversation and finds herself asking,

“But why? I mean, you can opt out at any time so why would you not have put it down with that as the plan?”

Waverly even knows that the personal opt out clause is what had really convinced Wynonna to sign Waverly up to San Junipero in the first place.

(Of course, that is not to say that she knows how someone in her position actually goes about opting out. She supposes it is something she would have to do from inside the programme. Unlike Nicole, who had used her voice on the outside world to never opt in in the first place, apparently).

Either Nicole has no answer to this or she does not wish to share it, because she does not say anything in response. Eventually, she says only, “it wasn’t what I wanted at the time, I guess.”

“At the time?”

Waverly feels herself pressing the subject in a way neither of them has ever done before. It seems unfair given all the times Nicole has stepped back when she probably wanted answers just as badly, but Waverly cannot seem to stop her mouth from running away with itself.

She had only just started seeing a new future for herself and it stings to think Nicole had not been doing the same.

“Yeah, when they offered it to me in the first place. Way back when.” Nicole keeps her voice soft, and it is clear she is trying to keep the conversation non-confrontational.

Against her own will, however, Waverly finds herself working in opposition to such an aim.

“Well, that must be a luxury,” she says with an ugly scoff that does not sound like it belongs to her.

Even then, Nicole stays gentle and Waverly almost begrudges her such magnanimity.  “What does that mean?”

“It means that my sister has been offered the chance to give me more time here and she hasn’t made the decision because she doesn’t know how to. And I can’t even tell her I want to stay. Or wanted to, at least. I can’t even make my own decision to stay, and apparently you don’t want to.”

From beside her, Waverly sees Nicole’s eyes go wide.

“Baby, that’s not what I said,” she says softly, voice shocked. “That’s not what I meant, either. Not at all.”

As ever, Waverly’s heart wants to sing at the pet name but this time it is too busy sinking into her stomach with gut-wrenching force.

Waverly is too shocked at the news to understand it any other way, and perhaps too wrapped up in her feelings to think to ask for further clarification. She feels stupid suddenly and, above all else, naïve. In all the years of her past life in Purgatory there had only been Champ and it had been a doozy from start to finish.

She didn’t really have much experience on how these things progress, and now she feels silly and embarrassed for thinking along lines that Nicole might not have considered herself.

“Listen,” Nicole says suddenly, her voice a little desperate. “Let’s not do this right now, yeah? Let’s talk about it next week. It’s nearly midnight and I don’t want to a go a week without you at the best of times, let alone if we were to part of bad terms.”

There is a part of Waverly that wants to take the olive branch Nicole offers, but for some reason another uglier, angrier part of her wants to lash out.

She is not really angry at Nicole, but she does not stop to consider this. If she did, she would have understood quickly that she was angry at life; at her happiness always being thrown a great ugly curveball time and again.

“Well that’s clearly not true, is it?”

Nicole’s brow furrows in genuine confusion. “What isn’t Waves?”

“That you don’t want to go a week without me. You’ll be going a lot longer soon.”

Nicole sighs. “That isn’t fair, Waverly. I never said it was entirely off th-”

“I think the problem is that you never said anything at all. That’s what’s not fair.”  

“I was trying to explain it, explain how I’ve changed since I’ve been here, but you’ve jumped to your own conclusions already.”

The accuracy of this statement pierces a little too deep, and Waverly feels her reflexes spring, knee-jerk and quick. Her voice goes cold and she closes off, and it clearly shocks Nicole.

“I just didn’t realise we were in this for different things is all,” Waverly says, shifting away beneath the covers. Nicole’s body responds as if she wants to maintain the connection but then thinks better of it at the last moment.

“What are you getting at exactly with this ‘different things’?”

Waverly is too scared to articulate exactly what she means and too ashamed that she had not realised that Nicole did not want to come here permanently.

She might have said otherwise at the beginning but when it came down to it, maybe she was just here for fun too.

Maybe San Junipero _was_ just a party town after all.

And of course, if Waverly slowed down and paused to consider it all, she would realise that fear - fear of yet more abandonment, fear of losing someone else she had grown to care for - was clouding her judgement beyond any reasonable degree. She would realise that this was not the Nicole she had come to know and even maybe love.

But fear had made her do stupid things in the past too.

“I thought this was - ” Waverly tries even as she feels her voice falter and stall in her mouth. To her shame and embarrassment there are tears welling in her eyes.

She scoots further back in the bed. The sheets are cold where they have not been occupied and for the first time in months it makes her think how it almost feels real here in San Junipero. Just like all the of the sparking heat between their naked bodies had felt real.

But it was all fake. San Junipero wasn’t real at all.

“I thought we were - I just thought it was something, Nicole. That’s all.”

“It _is_ something Waverly, at least to me. I already told you. I didn’t come to San Junipero just to hookup with strangers. You’re not a stranger, Wave.”

“Yes I am,” Waverly says, climbing out of bed on impulse and fumbling in the dark for her shirt. “We must be strangers; we don’t know the first thing about each other, not really.”

“You know that’s not true, especially not after all we’ve told each other recently.”

“Yeah, all that stuff we’ve told each other and you didn’t tell me you weren’t planning staying.”

Again, Nicole makes the important distinction. “That I didn’t plan on staying when I first got told about the programme. It wasn’t a crime for the person I was then to want have some freedom before I passed for good. And I don’t think you get to call me out for not mentioning it when you didn’t mention it was on the cards that you might stay longer.”

For the first time, Waverly fights the urge to shout. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up Nicole. What’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t asking for an excuse Waverly because you didn’t need one. You don’t owe me stuff you don’t want to say. Just like _I_ don’t need an excuse for a half-made decision that entered my head before I even knew you. Before I’d even had the first inkling I’d meet someone here who I’d fall in…”

“Who you’d what?” Waverly asks, pausing with her clothes clutched in front of her naked form. It is a test too far and she knows it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nicole says, voice strained. “I don’t want to say it under these circumstances Waverly.”

“Then evidently, no, it doesn’t matter.”

“ _Waverly_.” Nicole’s tone is pained and it hurts Waverly to hear it. “Come on. What do you want me to say? That eternity never looked all that appealing back in the days when I had absolutely no one to spend it with? It’s not an easy thing to admit. You don’t get to be mad at me for wanting or not wanting something like this nearly five months ago. That isn’t fair of you.”

“You at least should have told me,” Waverly said, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that agrees with Nicole. This conversation isn’t fair; Waverly isn’t being fair. The same little voice implores her to let Nicole talk, but Waverly cannot seem to make herself shut up. “Before you let this happen.”

Finally, this seems to be the part that pushes Nicole too far. Even then, though, the way she raises her own voice feels so understated and tempered. Waverly has no doubt that once upon a time in her life as a cop, Nicole would have been a force to be reckoned with. Here however, with Waverly, even a slight elevation in her temper seems reserved and although she probably does not intend it, her self-control only makes Waverly more frustrated at her own reaction.

“Before _I_ let this happen?” Nicole echoes, voice loud and tone heavy with disbelief. “What exactly is that supposed to mean Waverly? Because I didn’t think you were an unwilling participant, so unless there’s something you want to tell me about that then I sugg- ”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Waverly hits back, volume still climbing. “And it doesn’t exactly seem _okay_ to me that you let us go this far if you were always planning to leave anyway.”

Nicole sighs, sounding exasperated and tired. “I’m trying to tell you that I made the decision a long time ago but I’d ch- ”

“But you hadn’t changed your mind yet, don’t worry Nicole - I get it. Because you’re right. It’s all _your_ choice to make. But it’s kind of a selfish and stupid choice when you actually get to have a say. I’d give anything to spend more time here and my sister’s been asked to make that decision while I can’t even tell her what I want.”

“And what?” Nicole asks quietly, all fight draining from her voice just as quickly as it came. This, Waverly can tell, is a genuine question. “You’d tell your sister that if you could? That you _do_ want to be here for longer?”

“It hardly matters now, does it?” Waverly says coldly, hating herself as she does. She finally manages to wrestle her pants on as she stands. Nicole has scooted closer, sat up in bed with the sheets bunched around her chest, like she is ready to move at any moment and ask Waverly to stay; like they might somehow make sense of all this together.

Waverly is struck again by how messed up life has become for her. She cannot even have something close to a relationship here, either, it would seem.

“I’m never going to get the chance either way,” Waverly goes on, wrapping her arms around herself in the cool air of Nicole’s bedroom. “I’m going to spend decades stuck in that stupid hospital, stuck with that stupid, _stupid_ curse. But by all means, you make your choice because _you_ get to go soon.”

If pressed, Waverly would not be able to explain what had possessed her to say such a cruel thing. Indeed the words did not feel like her own - she felt entirely disconnected from them even as they hung in the space between her and Nicole. She did not even feel like herself.

She wants to hit rewind and discuss this properly. She does not even really know why she didn’t do that in the first place. She only knows that she is shocked and hurt; scared of losing Nicole forever.

Nicole, however, looks as though Waverly has just delivered her a physical blow.

For all intents and purposes, Waverly might as well have done. She suddenly feels small and sick and utterly ashamed of herself.

“That’s not fair Waverly,” Nicole says quietly, and the hurt in her voice all but splits Waverly in two. “You don’t get to make a statement like that just because someone else is dying and you’re not.”

Waverly says nothing, only thinks to herself how she has gone and pushed it too far. She only thinks to herself that she is an Earp in nurture if not in nature, and Earps just don’t get regular old happy endings.

They just get endings, and Waverly does not want her time with Nicole to end. Except, by pushing and pushing instead of acting like an adult, perhaps now things with Nicole are ending even sooner.

With a senseless need to distance herself from the argument, she feels a sob force its way out of her throat as she turns on her heel and leaves, her body weak and trembling with shame and sadness alike.

She tracks through the now familiar house and out the front door. She hears Nicole behind her as she walks down the front path, past the car and through the tufts of marram grass as it gives off its melodic swooshing song in the breeze. She makes it to the beach, feels her foot hit the cool, damp sand right as it disappears underfoot and for a heartstopping moment she thinks she is falling.

Then the sand disappears. The sound of the ocean cuts unpleasantly to silence and Waverly realises she has come home again.

Except now, it does not feel like home. This time, everything is wrong again - even more so than normal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2023.**

**_Calgary Hospital, 16:00 - one week later._ **

 

A staff nurse hovers in indecision over a slumbering patient when the doctor appears, on a routine check of the patient’s obs.

“She's usually ready and raring to go,” the nurse explains, “but I'm loathe to disturb her if she needs the rest.”

“She does,” the doctor agrees, daring to allow herself a little moment of sadness for the woman in front of her. “Give it a miss this week. That awful visit a few days ago is what really took it out of her. We never should have let it happen.”

“It wasn't your fault,” the nurse murmurs, making to pocket the little plastic-cased device she has become so accustomed to programming once per week. It has to be locked up again if they are not going to use it.

Of all the people she would trust to self-regulate, it was the strong, stoic woman below her. Still though, they are under strict instructions to treat the programme like every other medicine they administer. The patients should not be able to access it themselves.

For a moment, the nurse turns the device over and over between her fingers. Even with all her training she still marvelled at the wonder of modern technology, and especially that something that looked almost like the remotes people used for powerpoint slides could do so much.

After a pause, the nurse adds, “Nicole wanted her to come. She all but demanded we find her and bring her here.”

“Even so…”

“You couldn't have stopped it. It escalated too fast.”

“I know, I know. I shouldn't be thinking on it.”

The women glance at Nicole Haught's records, and they both know what the other is thinking. Hers is a case that is difficult to leave behind when they clock out of work every day. There is a shadow over the whole thing, with everyone wishing they could just do a little more to solve the mystery of the lady with all that steel in her soul, but far too much iron in her blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [runs and hides]
> 
> look...eventually there'll be less angst again. probably!!! and I promise my other wip is a fluff-only zone and that will be updated on Thursday.
> 
> the background of the events from this chapter will be built up over the next 2 or so chapters, giving the reasoning for Waverly's reaction and Nicole's initial hesitance about San Junipero, prior to meeting Waverly. 
> 
> I don't want to say let me know if you enjoyed the chapter but...you know..it was fluffy at the start!!! right?? I joke (mainly), but I do get nervous writing/posting angst (I don't want it to just be drama for the sake of it) so comments are, as always, very much appreciated to stop me worrying!
> 
> and if you want to yell at me for being mean (please don't I'm a big baby really) then you can find me at:
> 
> stan twitter: @rositabustiiios  
> tumblr: birositabustillos  
> ko-fi: www.ko-fi.com/alissawrites


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unstoppable force, meet immovable object...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> askdjgkd thank you so MUCH for being so supportive of my adventures in trying to write more angst. I was sooo nervous that it was going to feel contrived or unrealistic or ooc, but your comments were so lovely and kind. I truly do appreciate it more than I can say!! You guys take time out to read /and/ comment on the stuff I write???? mind always blown every! time! 
> 
> With that being said it's a bit of a bumpy ride for us and our girls for a tiny bit longer. I'm also adding Wynonna into the mix from now on, and sort of trying to hit season 1, season 2 vibe where they don't quite like/trust each other right away with this one. I sort of see the relationship progressing in those stages in most universes, especially this one.
> 
> So while I love writing banter-y Wynhaught, this is yet more new territory for me so again, I'd especially value your constructive thoughts if you have a spare moment and are willing to share them.

**Not Saturday. 2023.**

 

For a while after she was cursed, Waverly truly believed that things couldn't get any worse.

This time, however, that is exactly what had happened.

And it was all her fault.

Nothing she had said to Nicole had been even close to fair, and there had not been a single of word it that had been sincere. She had not been resentful at Nicole for having the ability to make a choice nor did she, deep down, blame Nicole for the choice she had made months ago.

They had both been different people then. Waverly had no hesitation in saying so about herself, and she would wager a high sum that Nicole would feel the same.

Waverly herself had arrived in San Junipero unsure and almost unwilling to stay. For a while, every moment she had spent away from the ‘real’ world had made her feel guilty and lost. San Junipero was a perfect little facsimile of the world Waverly knew, and every part of it had felt like a slight.

It was only as she fell into companionship with Nicole that things had changed.

She could not begrudge Nicole the same hestitance at the very beginning.

Perhaps there was a question as to why Nicole had not yet reconsidered her decision, but there were a million other ways Waverly could have asked such a question. But she had asked nothing, she had just melted down in her own special Earp-branded way.

The memory of it makes her stomach twist and cramp.

Unfortunately, Waverly has more than ample time to think over every wrong move she had made.

Even if she could have distracted herself with everyday tasks rather than laying as idle as ever, the scene just keeps replaying over and over in her head of its own accord anyway.

Nicole had just looked so _hurt_. She had been so desperate to insist that she had made the decision long before she met Waverly, and Waverly had been too overcome to listen properly.

There was no way for Waverly to avoid the truth of what had happened.

She had overreacted because she was so very, very scared. There was no other explanation, and it was probably not an explanation most people would accept.

Of course, Nicole is not _most people_ but Waverly also cannot help but worry that she has pushed it too far.

Nicole is dying, and Waverly had made it all about herself and about San Junipero.

Of all the times Waverly has felt badly about herself, nothing compares to this. She is embarrassed and, frankly, sick to her very stomach.

She cannot quite believe she shut down so quickly.

Her whole life had been composed of people leaving her - her parents, Willa, Uncle Curtis…

And when they weren’t leaving her she was instead leaving them, quite against her own will.

She had just started to see Nicole as something ever-present and immovable, and she had been hit with the lightning bolt that Nicole might not stick around either.

She had become accustomed to loss only through desensitisation and compartmentalisation. She had barely even realised she did either until she was doing them both to Nicole. She had pushed and pushed to get an immediate and unquestionable commitment out of Nicole, and when it sank in that Nicole was first trying to explain her thought processes around leaving, Waverly had simply closed off.

People always left her - why not make it easier for them?

(But of course, if only the bitter and fearful side of her had been silenced for a moment or two, the rational part of her brain might have reminded her that for five years, the rest of her family had stuck dutifully by her.)

And the worst part of this was that she might have been able to make Nicole consider staying. Perhaps she had been waiting to know if Waverly would want her around for good. But who, Waverly demands of herself, would want to stay in San Junipero with _her_? With a woman who behaved as she had?

She cannot help but believe that she had only driven Nicole further away, and she spends all week itching to go back and beg Nicole to listen to her one final time.

Of course, they had made no plans on when or where to meet but Waverly has five whole hours. She will spend every minute of them standing at Nicole’s door and testing out as many different decades as she possibly can.

Because regardless of whether Nicole stays in San Junipero or not, she cannot bear to part like this. Nicole had not said how much longer her own illness would progress, she had only seemed more desperate to tick off all her San Junipero boxes.

This, of course, suddenly makes sense to Waverly now. Nicole had not been sure if she was staying, and she didn’t want either of them to miss out.

But the thought that she might never see Nicole again is perhaps the worst Waverly has ever endured. All she knows is that she has made one of the biggest mistakes of her life and now she has to try and make it right.

The only good thought - and in truth it is slim pickings indeed - is that there will always be next Saturday. She can always do everything in her power to make amends next Saturday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the week progresses, however, things go from bad to worse.

First, she is trapped with her own guilt and absolutely nothing to assuage it.

Then, Wynonna stops visiting.

At least, that is how Waverly chooses to see it because she is feeling overwhelmed and dramatic, desperate to wallow because wallowing is quite literally the only option she has left.

(After all, she has already spent hours running over what she will say to Nicole.)

More accurately, what happens is that Wynonna does not turn up the next Thursday evening.

Granted, this is somewhat strange.

Waverly always expects a visit from Wynonna because Alice has minis tennis club on Thursday evenings. The courts are oddly close to the hospital, and the sessions last for ninety minutes. This is not long enough for Wynonna to bother with a return trip to the homestead, but it is perfect timing for an hour-long visit to the hospital.  

For a little while, Waverly assumes that she has her days mixed up. Wynonna has rarely missed a visit, and if she does she always calls the hospital and has a nurse explain the situation. They have lots of codes - shorthand for “I’m fighting a demon” or “Dolls’ medication hasn’t worked so well this week and he’s sick.”

Either way - Wynonna always calls.

So, Waverly almost manages to convince herself that she has her days mixed up - after all, this week has dragged like almost no other - when the DJ on the radio announces the date and time ahead of the evening news bulletin.

And, with the knowledge that Wynonna is caught up in something so important (perhaps dangerous?) that she cannot call, Waverly wonders if she has ever felt quite so lonely and excluded in all these long and tiring years.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Thursday, 2023.**

 

Wynonna Earp is not a woman to be trifled with, even at the best of times.

But she has been a woman on a knife edge for far too long. Things had not been _the best of times_ for many, many years and it all centred on one thing.

Her baby sister.

So, she had arguably become a woman who was not to be trifled with at any time.

Indeed, that much was clear as soon as she stepped onto the quiet, comfortable ward, still brushing rainwater from her leather jacket.

She was not going to come here.

She had been adamant of that right up until the eleventh hour.

Of all the things she had been warned about regarding this strange and slightly inexplicable San Junipero project, this was the one she had considered the least.

She had spent all her time worrying about Waverly being unhappy, feeling trapped or overwhelmed in a strange place. She had kept herself awake at night, wishing she could hear from her little sister just what this place - deemed by its creators as heaven on earth - was really like.

With Bulshar, Wynonna had almost had enough talk of the Garden of Eden to last her a lifetime - and an _after_ -lifetime too. She had thought she would never want to hear about it again, even with Waverly as she was. But then Black Badge had come knocking, and Wynonna had been left at the helm again; in charge of something she never wanted the responsibility for.

But this had not been Earp curses, laid out onto long-dead ancestors. This had been _Waverly_. One of the only people on earth who mattered.

Tied only with the decision to give Alice temporarily to Gus, this was the hardest choice Wynonna had ever had to make. Leave her little sister trapped here, or send her (for all intents and purposes, anyway) off to another realm Wynonna herself could not vet out beforehand.

So although the official handbooks and the decidedly _unofficial_ online forums had mentioned lost relatives reaching out through other San Junipero residents, the idea had barely grazed Wynonna’s consciousness.

She had struggled to imagine Waverly meeting others and making connections in this strange, phantom town.

This was not because she did not want her sister to do so, or because she imagined that Waverly would struggle to make friends, but because Wynonna simply could not imagine _anything_ about San Junipero.

It was all too distant to her; she did not know where to start.

The handbooks did not even contain pictures of the ‘real’ place, and neither did it lay out much in the way of written descriptions. The whole thing was shrouded in secrecy and while Wynonna could understand why this was - they did not want the tech to become the ultimate goal of those currently alive and healthy on earth - it made this all so much harder.

She would have signed a hundred million waivers and kept the secret until it was time for her own trip to San Junipero if it meant knowing a little more of Waverly’s current existence.

But she knew nothing.

Presumably, whoever she was about to meet could fill in some of the blanks. Reasonably, Wynonna knows this should excite her because knowing that her sister is happy is what she has craved for months.

But in actuality, this whole situation has the opposite effect. In fact, it makes Wynonna’s hackles rise slightly.

Whoever this person is, they better not think they know Waverly. They better not think they can tell Wynonna some profound truth about the sister who has been taken from her much, much too early. Whatever this stranger is about to tell her, it is nothing Wynonna does not already know for herself.

Because none of this San Junipero nonsense is real. None of it is _permanent_. Waverly is coming back to them one day sooner rather than later.

Waverly is _her_ sister. That is all there is to it.

This is why Wynonna wanted to ignore the request; because this person was a stranger and they did not know her family. They surely would not know the truth of the Earp’s life - Wynonna could not imagine Waverly telling anyone about the demons and the curses - and they could offer Wynonna very little by way of reassurance. She cannot imagine ever believing some stranger who might try and tell her anything about Waverly.

All this time, she had been telling herself she would accept any sign that Waverly was doing okay, but she knows now that the only thing that would ever suffice was hearing it from her little sister.

And if she could hear it from her little sister, then she would have no need of all this San Junipero secrecy anyway.

Once she had realised that she was not going to trust this stranger anyway, Wynonna had decided she was not going to come.

Hell, she had not even told Dolls - or Doc, or any of the team for that matter - about it.

Apparently, the new owners of the San Junipero tech had put a framework for this kind of thing into place. Anyone who wishes to reach out to patients or relatives outside of San Junipero has to go through official channels. It all remains anonymous until the last minute, presumably as a last layer of protection in the real world.

It is done through trained medical professionals - doctors, nurses, specialists; anyone who wishes to complete the course and get the clearances. A patient on the San Junipero program speaks to their doctor in one hospital, and an official letter is put through to another hospital. A doctor there sets the wheels in motion and everything is frustratingly hush-hush, at least from Wynonna’s point of view.

Only the official next of kin makes the call on any real world contact going ahead, and if there is no next of kin then things only get more complicated.

The request, delivered to Wynonna by one of the specialists, had shocked her deeply.

Her own internal reaction had shocked her more.

There was a knee-jerk, penetrating anger in her belly. She had not expected it and she did not especially like it.

_How dare some stranger summon her like a pauper to a king? How dare Waverly be the chess piece in the middle of all of this?_

Wynonna did not think about it for more than a moment. She had simply said no.

The specialist, a kind middle-aged woman with a thin face, was obviously privy to more context than Wynonna herself but she was not at liberty to divulge it. She had simply urged Wynonna to consider it a while longer and when Wynonna refused again she had only asked that Wynonna take the contact information and think on it in private.

_“I understand why you might not want to go. But consider that almost everyone on the San Junipero programme is very sick. These chances don’t come around very often and many of them don’t last indefinitely. Just think about it.” The doctor had fixed Wynonna with a sad, plaintive look._

_Wynonna had turned her gaze away._

_“I_ have _thought about it. You can tell them the answer is no.”_

_“I will,” had come the gentle reply. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t think on it and change your mind.”_

_Wynonna glanced at the official letter the specialist had passed to her._

_“It says here that an appointment has been made on Thursday.”_

_“They have to ensure a nurse or doctor is present.”_

_“Well I can’t do Thursdays. You know I’m always here with Waves.”_

_The older woman looked at Wynonna in a way that had made it clear that she saw through the weak excuse._

_“I know. I’ll tell them that in my response.”_

_“I don’t want,” Wynonna had paused and, in lieu of a name, waved the letter about slightly, “whoever_ this _is to know the first thing about it.”_

_The specialist had remained calm and almost frustratingly impassive. “They won’t. It’s only for the approved doctor on their ward.”_

_“Okay,” Wynonna had concluded. “Okay then.”_

There had been no more talk on the matter, but the truth was that none of this was okay.

Nothing in the official letter suggested that Waverly had requested that this stranger reach out - apparently, something like that was normally noted down. But even so, the thought that really shakes Wynonna’s resolve is that her sister might be expecting Wynonna to visit this other patient, and Waverly might find out that Wynonna had refused.

Wynonna Earp is not in the business of reneging on anything, but she is especially not in the business of breaking her baby sister’s heart.

Things around here were broken enough as it was.

So, quite literally at the last minute, Wynonna had left a slightly surprised-looking Jeremy and Rosita on tennis duty as she kissed Alice’s forehead with an apology that things would be back to normal as soon as possible.

On the drive over to the city, she tries (but ultimately fails) to think only of the carnage Alice would probably have caused already with Jeremy and Rosita - they were both terrible at refusing the little girl anything and Alice knew it better than anyone.

It was the only thought that gave Wynonna any reason to smile that afternoon.

 _That’s my girl_ , she thinks with a familiar flash of pride and affection.

And if she does not phone ahead to tell the hospital that her plans have changed, that is all part of it. If they turn her away on the grounds of short notice then the issue is out of Wynonna’s hands.

She would not admit it to herself, but that had been partly what she was hoping for - that someone else might make the decisions for once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wynonna arrives at the city hospital with only her thoughts for company, amplified on the long drive over. It means that the staff find her defensive and tired; even a good dose of road rage not enough to work the frustration out of her system.

Whatever the identity of person who had summoned Wynonna here, it remained completely obscure even now as she sits in yet another waiting room, drinking yet another piss-weak cup of bad instant coffee.

It had been five years. The waiting games had become no easier.

Even so, the hospital had not turned her away and Wynonna cannot really say if she glad of it or not.

It feels as though it takes hours for the doctor to arrive, but in reality it can only really be twenty minutes or so.

Eventually a female doctor slips into the waiting room, smartly dressed and smelling of almost expensive perfume; the kind that denotes elegance and affluence but not extravagance. Smart choice for a doctor.

She holds her hand out, shakes firmly, and introduces herself as Doctor Pressman.

“I’m sorry for the wait Miss,” she scans the notes so quickly that her pause is almost imperceptible, “Earp. We had been told not to expect you so I hadn’t quite cleared my duties for the day. Perhaps there was a mix up on the response we received from your sister’s care team. If so I do apolog-”

“No mix up,” Wynonna says, offering a bad, standoffish attitude in as unabashed a way as possible. “I told them I don’t do Thursdays. That’s when I visit my sister. Now she’ll know something is up.”  

Dr Pressman blinks and regards Wynonna slowly and carefully. This is all part of her job, Wynonna knows, but sometimes this kind of doctor’s stare got impossibly frustrating.

“I’m sorry Miss Earp. The project is new - not many of our staff are trained or cleared for these meetings. We have to work around our patients’ needs first.”

Wynonna understands this, more than anything she appreciates it now that she sees how much goes into looking after people like her sister. But this is more bureaucracy she does not need, even if she understands that she is the one causing problems here by turning up unannounced.

She simply levels an icy stare at the doctor who, to her credit, does not flinch. Instead, she goes on speaking.

“Speaking of putting our patients’ needs first, we don’t want these kinds of interactions to cause to distress to anyone.” She flashes Wynonna a pointed look. “And by that we mean patients _and_ relatives. I understand that this is a difficult time for you, but it is a difficult time for my patient too. I have a duty of care, and I have final say as to when and how this interaction ends.”

This is a clear warning, and at a more calm and rational time Wynonna could appreciate that her own stance, tone, and demeanour combined were setting off the right alarm bells in the doctor. In the moment, however, it is not what she needs to hear.

“Yes, I understand that. My sister is in a hospital too,” she says sourly. “Which is where I would be right now. Where I _should_ be right now.”

“We all appreciate you being here,” Dr Pressman says, still impressively calm. “All I can really say is that time is rather of the essence for my patient now.”

The implication sits heavy between them and Wynonna snaps her mouth shut for a moment.

“Oh. I hadn’t realised.”

“Nor should you have,” the doctor says, more kindly this time. “Now, it’s getting late and my patient is resting a lot. She’ll be awake now - I don’t think she wanted to accept that you wouldn’t come, she’s heard a lot about you I believe.”

This announcement is like a punch in Wynonna’s gut. This is a person who perhaps does not have much time, but has called Wynonna here because, god damn it, Waverly has _talked about her_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(The Sunday before, 2023**

“I don’t like it when you look at me like that,” Nicole says gently, voice little more than a tickly cough stuck in the back of her throat.

She had not wanted to say it to Waverly at all, let alone while they were arguing, but the ticking clock must be down to mere weeks now.

“Well, I don’t like my job sometimes,” Shae replies softly, eyes focussed on the syringe in her hand as she administers something through Nicole’s IV line.

She had treated Nicole almost right from the very start of this strange, inexplicable illness. She had been a junior doctor at the time, and even with the best will in the world it had been hard not to let this case get under her skin. She had been with Nicole for years and even knowing it was always going to end this way did not make it much easier.

You weren’t supposed to get attached, but you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. The time you spent treating a patient didn’t necessarily make any difference - you don’t have to know someone a long time to care - but Nicole had been simultaneously an easy and a hard patient. It almost, _almost_ felt like losing a friend by now.

Nicole’s illness had always been an impossible beast, but Nicole’s demeanour had always made her so easy to treat. She was not a good patient - Lord knows she hates being cooped up even now - but her attitude had always been kind and she had never once been disruptive or difficult.

Shae was going to miss her. She thinks they might have gotten on well in another life. There was an affinity between them; both women in difficult fields. Both _lesbians_ in difficult fields. It had not been something they ever really discussed, but the connection and understanding was heavy between them. They only knew it of the other through scant mentions of girlfriends - current in Shae’s case and past in Nicole’s - after they had known each other a good, long while.

Of course they had picked up on it beforehand, but no one wants to be that guy who assumes.

“Seriously though,” Nicole goes on softly, “it’s sad enough without knowing it’s even making the doctors sad.”

“I’m sorry,” Shae says, straightening up. “I’m not being very professional.”

“You’re fine,” Nicole says with a snort that her body does not seem quite capable of expelling. “I think we’re years past that point now.”

Shae drops the syringe into the metal kidney dish and watches Nicole quietly for a moment.

“You’re holding back today,” she observes. “What’s on your mind?”

Nicole visibly thinks for a moment, before saying, “weird night in the city last night. It’s kind of left me wondering.”

Checking her watch and ascertaining that she has time, Shae perches on the bed for a moment.

“Wondering what?”

“What the framework here is, if you want to reach out on someone’s behalf. I mean, I’m sure I read about it at some point - but it feels like a long time ago.”

“Well, it _exists_ ,” Shae says cautiously. “If you want to check it out I’ll find some paperwork for you.”

“Yeah,” Nicole replies, not sounding entirely convinced. “I’ll take some new reading material.”

“I did think you’d maybe met someone,” Shae ventures. “Someone nice to pass the hours with. You’ve seemed happier there - until today. I even wondered if you were starting to change your mind.”

“It was starting to feel right,” Nicole admits after a long, thoughtful pause. “But now I’m not so sure. Some things feel changed now, maybe beyond repair.”

Shae inhales slowly, trying to plan out her words into something that didn’t entirely dance wildly over the line between professional and personal interests.

“Nicole, as your doctor my sole job is to monitor and, where possible, augment your health. It is also, in some instances, to respect your choices.”

Nicole flashes her a wry, playful look - so much of that bold spirit still on the surface. “But you don’t want to talk to me as a doctor, do you? Don’t worry, you can go off the record. I’m not about to file a complaint.”

Shae allows herself a sad little laugh. “Honestly? I don’t really get it - I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it. I’ve never been there, I don’t know how unearthly it might feel. But you could opt back out at any time if you said you wanted to go there after you pass.”

“I know,” Nicole says quietly, evidently still contained within her own private thought process.

Shae has no desire to push. It would not be fair on any level, but especially not as a doctor.

“Let me get that paperwork yeah? Start small. You thinking of meeting a relative?”

“A sister,” Nicole says, a smile blooming on her face at the thought of someone Shae has never met.

“Okay, well let’s start with a sister. Let’s just hope she’s nice.”

Lost to her memories, Nicole carries on smiling. Absently, she says,

“Well she’s _Waverly’s_ sister. No doubt they’re just the same - a force of nature with a heart of gold.”)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

****Thursday, 2023** **

Wynonna had thought she was used to hospitals.

She had thought she was growing used to the smell of them, to the sight of patients and grieving relatives.  

But the woman she meets is so evidently ailing, ailing in a way that is completely different to Waverly, and the sight of is painful to see. The sight of a bad illness, even on a total stranger, remains hard and it confirms that Wynonna is still not used to any of this at all.

The woman, name still unknown to Wynonna, is just visible through the doorway as Dr Pressman hesitates on the threshold, knocking to announce their arrival.

She has striking red hair, cut short perhaps for style or perhaps for convenience during her sickness. It stands out all the more because the woman’s skin is so very devastatingly pale. It would look right on her in some ways - like she was already perhaps that way - but it has been set deeper into her skin by whatever is wrong with her.

She is sat up in bed, in pyjamas but above the covers with her legs crossed at the ankle and a book in her lap. But even with this defiant display at normality, she looks almost unbelievably unwell somehow.

It is hard for Wynonna to pinpoint really, because the woman - evidently tall even while seated - is pale and drawn but not especially thin or wasted. She looks tired, tired in a way that surpasses even deep and natural exhaustion. Aside from this, however, it is hard to really say what specific thing looks _wrong_ or _unwell_ about her.

“Nicole,” the doctor calls with a gentle rap of her knuckles against the open door. The woman turns her eyes towards them for the first time; brown, deep, both soulful and mournful at once. Something in Wynonna’s stomach twists.

There it is, the suffering. Not evident immediately, it turns out that it’s there in her eyes.

Wynonna sees it in her own reflection too every morning.

“I know we told you th- ” Dr Pressman goes to explain, but the woman - Nicole - beats her to it.

“Wynonna.” There is no question in her voice, only the quiver of a slow-spreading weakness. If she is shocked, Nicole hides it well. In fact she looks almost relieved, and Wynonna wonders if this was something Nicole needed to do. She wonders if the weight of _not_ doing it was hanging heavy with Nicole because she was...well...

Wynonna almost feels guilty for saying ‘no’ at all.

In fact, the only reason that the emotion does not fully pierce through Wynonna’s skin is that there is almost no space in her body left to feel anything remotely negative.

Wynonna glances to the doctor, looking for a little guidance.

“Yeah, that’s me. And you’re...Nicole?” she asks, seeking confirmation and receiving it by way of Nicole’s tiny nod.

“Yes. Do you want to sit down?”

“I can’t stay long,” Wynonna says without any forethought, and Nicole’s face falls. This time, Wynonna does feel guilty and she moves towards the chair. “Sorry. It’s just that I left my daughter with some friends.”

A flicker of recognition passes over Nicole’s face. “Of course, sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Me neither,” Wynonna says as she sits down, an apology still in her voice.

Nicole just flashes her a gentle, tight-lipped smile and marks her page in her book.

She shuts it and sets it to one side on her comforter and Wynonna can’t help but notice the title.

“You’re learning Latin?” she asks, failing to keep a note of incredulity out of her voice. If she was on her way out, she wouldn’t be learning dead languages for fun.

“Not well,” Nicole answers sheepishly. “But I’m trying.”

“My sister speaks Latin,” Wynonna says by way of conversation, momentarily forgetting that they both apparently have Waverly in common.

“That’s why I’m trying to get the basics down. I’m trying to keep up,” Nicole replies. Her voice is still carefully unassuming, but nonetheless her answer makes Wynonna’s head spin.

The idea of it still doesn’t make sense - that this bed-bound woman who Wynonna knows for a fact has never met Waverly in person, should know that her sister can speak another language.

“Oh,” Wynonna says. It is hard to render her speechless, but there is simply nothing more for her to say.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole says again. “I know this is completely crazy.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Wynonna says, voice still more stony than she can entirely account for, “but it’s hard for me to believe you really know my sister.”

Nicole laughs, but it is an ugly, infirm sound. Wynonna suspects it is just a glimmer of how it once sounded.

“I kind of get that. Is there anything I can tell you that will help show I’m not lying? We met on Waverly’s first night, in a bar in San Junipero and we’ve hung out ever since. She’s small, maybe five four, five five. Long brown hair, pretty brown eyes. She’s - ”

“No no,” Wynonna interjects sharply. “I can maybe just about believe you’ve met her in some weird way. That’s still kind of a mind fuck but I do believe you’re acquainted. But you don’t _know_ my baby sister. That’s different.”

“Oh.” Nicole’s face falls again and that is when the guilt finally breaks through. Wynonna is sick of every bad feeling coursing through her near constantly and cannot help but be resentful that this meeting is only making it worse.

“You’ve known her, what? A couple of months? Couple of hours per week?”

“Of course,” Nicole says, working hard to be reasonable and this somehow only makes Wynonna more angry. It would have been so much easier if this woman wasn’t _nice_. “I don’t claim to know her like you do. But we are - she is - ”

“See?” Wynonna says quietly, feeling defeated. “You don’t even know the word yourself.”

“I care about your sister,” Nicole says, the first spark of defiance finally flaring up. There is a weight to her voice, something which belies a depth of feeling on Nicole’s part that makes Wynonna instantly suspicious. “I know I haven’t known her like you, but we’ve spent every trip to San Junipero together since Waverly got signed up.”

“I don’t know what you think my sister is to you,” Wynonna says, “but she doesn’t belong in San Junipero. I don’t know what she’s told you but she’s not...she’s not sick like -”

“Like _me_ ,” Nicole supplies with a humourless chuckle. “I know. In fact she made that very clear to me last night.”

“So whatever you think you know about all of this, she’s not going to be staying there -”

“I know the truth of her condition Wynonna.” Nicole says this so seriously, with such an unnervingly long stare, that Wynonna is stalled in her onslaught.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Waverly told me who you are, what you guys do. For a job. It means that I know how Waverly lives her life now.”

Wynonna feels everything slow down around her.

“Waverly wouldn’t - she knows no one would believe her. No one ever believed us before.”

“Well you never told me before. The ex-cop who got bit by something nobody’s ever heard of,” Nicole says, but Wynonna struggles to wrap her mind around any of this. The more Nicole says, the less Wynonna truly perceives. “Something that set the iron contents of her blood so out of sync it’s been slowly killing her for nearly five years.”

“Waves wouldn’t have told you that, not unless you told her yours first.”

Nicole smirks, and for the first time Wynonna sees a glimmer of the woman who was.

“Well for argument’s sake let’s just say I did. Let’s just say I wasn’t kidding when I told you I care about her, respect her, trusted her with my truth.”

“And she just told you back? I don’t think I can believe that.”

“It’s been months of us just learning things. She knows I was a cop, she knows my favourite hobby was climbing. I know she speaks Latin, that she’s vegan. I know she orders mezze plates from cafes, spends hours upon hours in museums. I know she can dance. I know she likes olives and always steals mine because _she_ knows I hate them. I know about Alice and Dolls, I know about Doc Holliday. I know about _Bulshar_. Well, what little Waverly knows about him anyway. I know she wanted to see the ocean more than anything. I -”

“Okay, stop,” Wynonna says, feeling her voice rise. “Great, so you know all this shit about my kid sister. She for some unknown reason told some stranger our family secret. God knows how you tricked her into that. But what do you _want_ from us now?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Nicole says, voice easy and confident. It is perhaps the strongest she has sounded since Wynonna sat down.  “I know Waverly can’t tell you herself what’s going on in San Junipero. She can’t give you her blessing to say yes to more time there. She wants to, but I know she can’t. I’m just trying to help.”

Unconvinced, Wynonna narrows her eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

“You have no reason to. I didn’t necessarily expect you to. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. For Waverly.” Nicole’s face twists into a smile, one that lacks any semblance of joy. “Though I guess living with myself isn’t the problem now.”

“She asked you to do this?”

“Not exactly, no. I’m just telling you what she told me.”

Something crystallises in Wynonna’s mind then. She does not entirely trust that it is the right thing, but it provides a decent smokescreen for every other emotion swirling around her body, and she is grateful for it.

“I think you’re forgetting that my sister has a hope of getting better one day.”

“I’d argue otherwise - about the forgetting part.”

“She’s not going to stay, Nicole. Whether you’d like her there with you forever or not. Whatever you feel for her or think she feels back.” Wynonna feels her voice climb again, senses rather than hears Dr Pressman - present in the room the entire time - take a step closer.

“Miss Earp, I’m going to have to ask you to leave if this goes any further. Nicole needs a calm environment.”

Wynonna does not turn around to face the doctor, so she sees when Nicole gives a small shake of her head.

“Shae, it’s fine. I know how this looks to other people,” she turns her attention to Wynonna. “If you’re trying to tell me not to get attached, you don’t have to worry.”

Nicole’s words hit Wynonna all at once and she does a double take. “What is that supposed to mean? I thought you cared about my sister.”

“I do. I really, really do. But I’ve been in San Junipero long before her, Wynonna. I never signed up to go permanent when I joined the scheme. So whatever ulterior motive you think I have, I promise you I don’t. I really am just trying to help.”

“Yeah well funnily enough, I think you’re trying to keep my sister,” Wynonna says, finally rising and shaking off a gentle but insistent hand from Dr Pressman at her shoulder. “Alright, alright. I’m _going_. There’s nothing more to discuss here anyway.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2012.  
**Visit 21.0****

Waverly does not bother waiting around.

The instant the device clicks on, she is at Nicole’s doorstep. It is 2012, the year they met. Waverly, hoping that Nicole might choose this year as a meeting point, now feels just as hopeless as she had that very first night in San Junipero.

Aside from that, nothing else is the same as her first visit.

Winter is in full force now, and the sharp wind is brewing up a storm outside Nicole’s house. The tide is high, and it is whirling and roaring, throwing foam around in the breeze. Above her and off in the distance, the forest looms and the trees seem to sway back and forth as one. It is already growing dark, and nothing about the place seems welcoming now.

Waverly hammers against Nicole’s front door, shouting in an effort to make herself heard above the din.

Her hair, carelessly left loose in her rush to find Nicole, whips around her, sticking unpleasantly to her lips and face.

There is no sense of possibility or expectancy as she shivers and prays that she will hear signs of life in Nicole’s house.

Nothing is quite right about San Junipero anymore.

More than anything, Nicole is not here to bail her out this time. There is no one to take responsibility but Waverly herself.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2009.  
**Visit 21.1****

Waverly tries again. The weather is the same: just as cold, wind just as strong and angry as it carries soft spots of sea water along in its rage. It is just as much a pathetic fallacy as the last time.

Nicole’s house looks just as quiet. No lights on inside and no signs that she is at home.

Waverly kicks at a clump of grass still resolutely clinging onto life.

She envies it its defiance.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 1999.  
**Visit 21.2****

The white Chevy Corvette is back in Nicole’s drive, and it makes Waverly want to cry.

She runs her hands over the neat paintwork as she paces around the front drive, trying to move and keep herself warm.

It starts to rain, because of course it does, and Waverly cannot think of what to do.

She isn’t going to give up this easily, but she has no idea what to do for the best. Perhaps Nicole is here in 1999 but she is not at home. Perhaps she is waiting at Waverly’s apartment, perhaps she is at their favourite little cafe.

Perhaps they are like ships in the night passing each other by.

It could happen over and over, not just this week but next week too. It could keep happening.

For a brief and heavy moment, Waverly believes she will never see Nicole again.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2017.  
V **isit 21.3****

The dial tone for Nicole’s cell phone cuts out almost immediately.

Waverly has full signal, but it is as though there is nothing out there to connect to.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2000.  
**Visit 21.5****

She slams her fists against the door so hard they smart.

She calls Nicole’s name so loud her throat feels sore.

It doesn’t make the blindest bit of difference.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 1987.  
**Visit 21.7****

Waverly does not even bother knocking on Nicole’s door. She can see the lights are all off.

Instead she sits on the doorstep and wraps her arms around herself for warmth, ineffectual as the cold and damp seep through her jeans.

She rocks to try and keep the cold at bay, teeth chattering around the sound of Nicole’s name. It repeats itself over and over again, quietly enough to be lost to the wind entirely.

Waverly urges herself to stop, but the word _Nicole_ seems to be fused to her tongue.

She knows the ghost of it will be there forever.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2009.  
**Visit 21.8****

She is ticking off the years they have spent together, but nothing works.

For the first time, she tries her own apartment instead.

It is a stupid decision, allowing herself a traitorous burst of hope as she darts down the stairwell. By the time she hits the second floor she dares to believe that things are not ruined beyond repair. By the time she gets to the atrium she truly believes Nicole will be waiting for her outside.

She all but throws herself out the door, back into the rain; soaking herself through yet again.

The streets are deserted - no one else is stupid enough to brave the weather.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday. 2023.  
**Visit: unknown****

At the point she loses track of her visits, Waverly accepts the fact that Nicole is not going to be found. She is not here. Something in Waverly can sense it.

It is not that she cannot get the year right. Some sixth sense tells Waverly that Nicole did not come to San Junipero tonight.  

Waverly is half-tempted to try and think herself back into her own hospital bed. But she is here now, and she does not want to go back until midnight.

So she goes back to Nicole’s house, and the decision is almost an unconscious one. Feeling lost, she tries the front door.

It opens, although Waverly thought it would have been locked.

Chilled to the bone and numb in more ways than one, Waverly steps inside and shuts out the storm behind her.

Being here under these circumstances should feel like an intrusion, but this place is _Nicole_ and as such it feels like coming home. It is not quite right to be alone, because the wanting for Nicole to come back and listen to her apologies is so strong Waverly feels it in her bones like the cold wind outside.

The house is unlit and most of the curtains are drawn against the dark.

Waverly switches a few lights on, but the unnatural hush of the house somehow seems worse in the light. She turns them all back off again.

She has never encountered the world in 2023, and she is almost disappointed at how little has changed. The tech is a little sleeker, a little more suave, but nothing much else jumps out.

She wanders aimlessly around the downstairs, stopping at a cluster of photo frames on a wall - almost all of them featuring her own face smiling down at her. They are all pictures of she and Nicole together, but as Nicole is not in San Junipero Waverly cannot tell if it is her own mind willing the show of sentimentality into reality.

She does not want to question it too hard, because she wants to believe that Nicole still cares enough to keep the memories of their time together alive in her home.

In lieu of anything better to do, Waverly drags herself past the frames and towards the stairs. She finds she can barely lift her feet as she makes her way to the bedroom.

She does not dry off and she does not undress.

The sheets smell of Nicole when Waverly climbs beneath them. The pillow reminds her of both their shampoos mingled together as she lays her head against it and cries and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mooore angst!!! More me being terrified of pitching the angst just so! More me hoping you don't totally hate me/haven't totally lost faith in this story. 
> 
> (Also I promise more fluff on my Thursday update of _Elevate_!!!) 
> 
> As ever it would mean the world if you could leave a review below! Or you can contact me as ever on social media.
> 
> stan twitter: @rositabustiiios  
> tumblr: birositabustillos  
> ko-fi: www.ko-fi.com/alissawrites


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly, Nicole, and Wynonna must all face up to things they would rather ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope everyone is doing well and, if in the relevant hemisphere, surviving all the cold weather and dark nights. S.A.D. season really sucks and I'm right here with people on that one.
> 
> So, with that in mind this chapter might not like, be much of a balm. I personally found it the hardest chapter to write. I'm a baby and I cry/get my heart broken over a lot when it comes to shows, stories etc., but I managed passably with the past few chapters. This one,,,well, I found it a bit rough. Just a head's up on the angst front. In my defence I:  
> a) am starting to mingle in the fix-it elements now in preparation to conclude this story  
> b) ramp up the fluff in Elevate this week, and  
> c) will hoooopefully (but no promises) have a Christmassy ficlet in the works to post later on in December.
> 
>  **One important thing:** take good note of the dates I put at the top of each segment. As I switch POVs to tie the stories up, particularly next chapter, the dates jump around a little bit. I don't thiiiink it's too confusing, but only if you do note the dates as you read. If any bits are unclear, please let me know. I'm anal enough to check the 2023 calendar at work, I'm definitely going to want to be corrected if needed.

~~~~**~~Not Saturday.~~  
** ****Sunday, 3 December 2023.  
**Purgatory.******

 

Waverly starts to learn that it is not worth telling herself things cannot get worse.

She had thought this all week, determined that if she could only make it to San Junipero then she could make things right.

(Or, even if she could not make them right she could maybe start to make them a little less wrong.)

But instead, last night’s visit had only made things exponentially worse.

_Nicole wasn’t there._

Throughout the following morning, it seems that Waverly is capable of only repeating these three words to herself over and over again. Those first hours pass by in a blur and, with only one exception, Waverly cannot say for sure what happened.

She does not really want to accept the truth of what Nicole’s absence meant, and until the following week she initially suspects that she will want to live in denial.

But against her will, the reality of it has already settled around her bones.

Waverly was not feeling especially certain of much these days, but the one thing she knew was that Nicole is not the kind of person to give someone the silent treatment. She did not skip out on their Saturday night because of the argument. Waverly cannot even really say how she knows this, but the thought is sure and certain; unconscious to her as breathing.

If Nicole could have been there that night, she _would_ have been there.

If Nicole was not in San Junipero then something must have happened. Something must be really, really wrong.

The thought is like ice in Waverly’s veins, because Nicole had said _she wasn’t passing over_.

Of all the terrible thoughts that Waverly could be stuck with, this leaves all the others in the dust. Waverly cannot bring herself to think the specific word, but she spends Sunday morning in a state of all-consuming panic at the idea that Nicole might be _gone_.

She might have gone thinking Waverly believed all the awful things she said. She might have gone thinking Waverly didn’t care for her. Hell, she might have gone no longer caring for Waverly.

It all makes her mind whir and race, thoughts tumbling over each other until Waverly’s stomach aches.

And in truth, Waverly is beyond furious at herself. She wants to scream until her throat burns or clench her fists until her fingernails break the skin. Of all people, she should know how easily the rug can be pulled out from underneath you. Of all people, she should know never to part on bad terms because some things might never get to be said.

This might just be the hardest it has ever been to be trapped like this. She cannot ask anyone for help, she cannot begin to hope for aid in contacting Nicole.

She even knows where Nicole’s hospital is, for Christ’s sake. She just cannot reach out to her there.

(She does not let herself consider that Nicole might no longer be there at all).

She cannot even tell anyone what is going on, she cannot even beg for some small act of comfort from one of her loved ones. She knows she is the one in the wrong, but she really, really needs some support right now.

Every time she thinks there is a rock bottom, the ground keeps crumbling away.

She has to believe that she will see Nicole again during her next visit, but much better would be if someone else could only reassure her of it too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only thing from the outside world that punctuates the steady thrum of fear in Waverly’s body is another undesired absence.

Wynonna.

After her disappearance on Thursday, Waverly assumes in the following two days that she will make contact - but she does not hear from her sister at all, not even through someone else.

Dolls had called around on the Friday before Waverly’s worst visit to San Junipero. He had not, however, mentioned Wynonna’s absence at all.

It is only the fact that she trusts him above all others to give her a truthful account of the team’s status that she does not spiral even _before_ she makes it back to San Junipero after her argument with Nicole.

Dolls does not lie, even by omission. Something must be amiss, but not something catastrophic.

Then, San Junipero happens and it _is_ catastrophic and Waverly’s body fills up with anxiety.

When Wynonna’s absence stretches from Thursday through to Sunday, Waverly starts to lose sense of where one worry starts and the other finishes. She only knows that Nicole and Wynonna are two of the most important people she will ever have in her life, and her combined fear over the two of them is like a swarm of bees buzzing between her ears.

She plays out a hundred different (separate) scenarios in her head, awful scenarios that spring up unbidden and wanted. Perversely, however, the truth of it all would never have occurred to her a million years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Auntie Waverly! Auntie Waverly!”

Waverly hears the way Alice hurtles into the room, yelling at high volume. There is barely a second before she feels the sudden shock of the little girl throwing herself onto the bed.

She had been half asleep, her patterns odd and out of sorts as worries keep her up at night, and her heart strains against her chest when her niece makes her jump.

She does not mind though, because of all the people who might make her forget everything for a while it is little Alice.

Wynonna’s voice follows, and it should be a sweet relief but when she cautions Alice she sounds uncharacteristically sharp and terse with her daughter.

The sound of it surprises Waverly. Of course, she has never heard Wynonna in full discipline mode - Alice rarely plays up at the hospital and, in truth, she is not _really_ playing up now.

“Sorry,” Alice says, clearly just as shocked and stung. “Sorry Auntie Waverly.”  

There is a little childish wobble to her voice, and Waverly yearns to play the part of aunt; to playfully undermine the parental rules and perhaps encourage the girl to bounce on the bed or to speak about what is so exciting.

A loaded, uncomfortable silence follows until Dolls’ voice chimes in. Waverly had not realised he was there.

“Well,” he says gently. “Go on, what were you going to say?”

“Oh,” Alice says, but she sounds unsure now. She sets up a rhythm against the bed frame and Waverly must assume she is kicking her heels against it. “It’s December, and we’re all going to look at Christmas trees.”

“It’s too early to buy one,” Dolls adds, almost as though to remind Alice they are not going to decorate the homestead just yet. “But we’re going to see which kind of tree is Alice’s favourite.”

“The tallest!” Alice insists, some of her characteristic bounce already seeping back in.

Still, Wynonna says nothing more.

“Everyone’s meeting us there,” Dolls adds. “Doc, Jeremy, Rosita. But Wynonna needed to come by anyway and - ”

“And I said you needed to know about the Christmas trees!” Alice trills, cutting directly over Dolls. In response he just chuckles.

“And since you did such a good job Alice, let’s give your mom a second, yeah?

“Can I come and tell Auntie Waverly about them tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” Dolls says, very evidently smiling.

“ _But -_ “

“No buts,” Wynonna says quietly, voice now gentle but still firm. “I need to talk to your Aunt, but if you ask nicely maybe you can go buy some candy from the store in reception, yeah?”

Waverly hears Alice’s hopeful little gasp and Dolls accompanying laugh.

“Sounds good to me,” he says, “c’mon kid.”

Alice shoots off the bed and Waverly feels the girl press a sweet little kiss to her cheek.

“See you tomorrow,” she whispers, so that Wynonna and Dolls do not hear her.

Waverly knows instantly that Alice will get her way through sheer force of will alone. She is Wynonna’s daughter.

After a few seconds, two sets of footsteps leave and the door swings shut.

Waverly hears Wynonna settle in the seat next to the bed and with her closer, it becomes more obvious still that something is wrong.

She takes Waverly’s hand but her grip is all wrong - too tight, too tense - and her breathing is heavy and ragged, like she is holding onto her emotions by a thin thread.

It feels as though minutes tick by while Wynonna sits with her in complete silence.

After everything that has happened in the past few days, this atmosphere is almost too much for Waverly to bear. Then, Wynonna speaks and it somehow still makes everything worse.

“I’m sorry I disappeared on you babygirl,” Wynonna says and it is clear she is about to lose a battle with a strong flood of emotion sitting in wait at the back of her throat. She sniffs. “Worst sister in the world award again, huh? And trust me, if you’re there thinking _‘no way Wynonna_ ’ then you won’t be thinking that in a minute. In a minute, you’re gonna hate me.”

She pauses and takes a few long breaths before speaking again.

“I have to uh, tell you something. I’ve been avoiding it but Dolls kind of bullied me into it. I’m actually super pissed because he knows I’m not r...well, anyway. He told me in no uncertain terms that I’m never gonna be ready to have this conversation.”

There is such a heavy note to Wynonna’s voice that Waverly almost yearns to tell her to stop. She does not think she can hear whatever Wynonna is about to say, she does not think there is space enough in her heart for things to get worse.

“I did something bad Waves,” Wynonna says, voice finally cracking. “I did something really, really bad and I don’t think I’ve ever needed you here more to tell me it’s all gonna be okay. But it’s not gonna be okay. Because I’m gonna tell you how I fucked up and then you’re going to hate me. I don’t want my baby sister to hate me.”

It has been a long time since Waverly has hated this shitty existence quite so much. Things had gotten marginally better once the team got Alice back and settled into infrequent demon-fighting. If things were good with her family, then it made it easier on Waverly too.

Then there had been San Junipero. There had been Nicole and she had been _everything_.

Waverly was actually happy.

But this isn’t happy now, this is how it feels when everything is falling apart. She had thought it was falling apart when she first got cursed, but that had been a drop in the ocean compared to how this feels.

Of course she could not hate Wynonna. But Wynonna sounds scared of whatever she had done, or thought she had done, and it makes Waverly scared in turn.

“There isn’t really a nice or easy way to say this kiddo, so I’m just gonna…” Wynonna takes a couple of huge, whooshing breaths. “ _Phew_. God. Okay. There’s no good way to tell this story so I’m just gonna do it. I got a letter through. From Calgary.”

Wynonna pauses again and Waverly’s heart feels like it stops for a few moments. Her brain speeds up and she connects the dots before Wynonna even has the chance to say anything more.

It would make sense. She had not for a moment thought that one absence might be connected to another, but it would make _so much sense_.  

Everything is still terrible because she can hear Wynonna crying, but a little candle within her flickers back to life at the thought that Wynonna might have met Nicole in person. These are two of the people who mean the most to her and she had dreamed of a normal life where they might have met in person.

In all of her long, meandering chats with Nicole since they floated together into the space of _a couple_ , Waverly has lost count of the number of times she has spoken about Wynonna. She told Nicole about the whole family, Alice too, but it had always started and ended with Wynonna.

“Anyway, you’re probably going to have worked it out already in that smart brain of yours,” Wynonna goes on, evidently giving up the battle of holding her emotions in as her voice wobbles and chips away in places. “But it was a contact request from Nicole.”

Waverly knows there must be a caveat because Wynonna would not be speaking about it all like this if it was a happy story, but it does not stop her heart soaring to hear Nicole’s name spoken in Wynonna’s voice.

It reminds her that this is all real and better still it confirms that Nicole is still alive.

She feels a little tear of her own slip down her cheek, relief spilling out of her like sunshine. She is glad, though, that it passes Wynonna by unnoticed, because she is not to know that this is a happy tear for Waverly.

“I’m just going to be honest with you Waves. I wasn’t going to go. I made all these excuses at the time, but now I don’t even know what to tell you. I was scared, I think. This San Junipero thing, it freaks me the hell out. I thought I was good with all this afterlife shit, what with revenants and hell and the goddamn stairway to heaven. And yet it’s _this_ that freaks me out. The idea that you’re here on Saturday nights but not here too. And then there’s this person who I know you’ve never met in your life, but you _have_ met them. And now they want to meet me.

“And I’ve spent all this time desperate to know that you’re happy, but when the possibility of finding out was in front of me I freaked out. Suddenly I almost didn’t want to know anything at all. If you weren’t happy then I’d hate myself, but if you were then I’d hate myself too because I’d be selfish about it. I’d be happy that you were doing well, more than anything it would make me happy. But also it means accepting a lot of shit Waves, and I don’t think I’m ready to accept it.

“So I said ‘no’, but I changed my mind at the very, very last second. It was why I didn’t come by on Thursday - I was in Calgary, I was with Nicole.”

Wynonna chooses to take another break, and Waverly is grateful for it because it gives her a moment’s reprieve. All the things she had feared when she was offered extra time in San Junipero were back at the fore; all the missed moments with her family, all the dreams of getting this life in Purgatory back one day slowly dimming to nothing.

She had almost accepted that she was stuck like this forever, but that was when she thought she might have Nicole forever too.

It hurt to hear Wynonna say she wasn’t ready. It physically hurt Waverly to hear her sister like this, the pain somewhere in her chest like a muscle spasm.

“I didn’t uh, I didn’t exactly cover myself in glory babygirl. You know how I can be sometimes, when um...when I get scared. And part of the reason I didn’t come here sooner is that I didn’t know if you were kind of up to speed already. I don’t know if you saw Nicole this Saturday. Maybe you know already and you don’t want me here. But I’m going to say it anyway, because maybe you don’t know but even if you do, I need to explain myself. You deserve that Waves, bare minimum. You deserve so much more than all of this and so, I think, does Nicole. It’s just taken a whole lot of wallowing and reflection for me to see just what she was trying to do.

“I suppose I should say that I still don’t properly know what’s wrong with her, I never really gave her the chance to tell me. But I can’t lie to you and say she didn’t look sick babygirl. Because she did. But her face just _lit up_ when she talked about you and I think it made me…” Wynonna sighs. “I don’t want to say jealous. It wasn’t jealousy but it just hit me. The frustration. That she gets to have the real you and I don’t. And I didn’t know her from Eve, and it’s hard because in my head you’ve never met her. I know you _have_ but she was just this total stranger to me and yet she was sat there in hospital that night reading a book on goddamn Latin. She’s bought this book just because _you_ can speak it.

“It freaked me out. And then I find out that she’d called me there because you’d told her about the decision I have to make. About getting you some more time out there in San Junipero. She said you’d been upset that you couldn’t give me your blessing to go ahead with it. And keep in mind that she’s just talking about you like she’s goddamn head over heels in love, or friend love, or _something_ love with you. Like I say, it was like she wasn’t sick when she saw me and when she got to speak about you. I guess it’s probably the first time she’s been able to.”

Briefly, Waverly wonders how much more of this story she can reasonably take.

It is there again, that treacherous and traitorous spark of joy as she hears the way Wynonna speaks about Nicole. Waverly does not want to imagine Nicole ailing, but she knows the look Wynonna is speaking of. Nicole does not reserve it simply to speak about her, she pours it into every one of their interactions.

She looks that way when Waverly drags her around a museum, when Waverly laughs at their shared jokes, when Waverly shouts her name against the pillows as she peaks around Nicole’s fingers…

She has seen that look countless times, but it does not diminish the way it feels to hear Wynonna talking about it.

And if Wynonna met Nicole after the argument, if Nicole still looked that way, then maybe there was hope. Maybe she could forgive Waverly one day.

Maybe Nicole still cares for her, even when she shouldn’t.

This time, Wynonna pauses for even longer than before and Waverly can hear her sniffling and trying to collect herself.

She wants so badly to pull her sister close and hold her so that they can cry together.

“It was probably the first time she got to talk about you,” Wynonna repeats, voice thin and worn out, “and I was such an asshole about it. And I’m so, so sorry Waves. I know it’s her I should be apologising to and I will, I’ll make it right I swear. But I said bad stuff, I don’t really want to repeat it but I guess I thought deep down that because she’s terminal she just wanted to keep you there forever with her. And instead of just using my damn common sense I took my fears out on someone who was just trying to help you _and_ put my own mind at ease.

“I’m not ready to send you away for longer because I don’t want to admit that things might not change. That you might not…” Wynonna grits out an ugly, angry laugh. “See? Even now I’m too chickenshit to say it. I took it out on someone who cares about you, someone who’s looking out for you even while they’re suffering. I don’t know what you two are to each other, and I don’t really care so long as it’s good and so long as she makes you happy. And Waverly I _swear_ if I’ve fucked this up for you I’m sorry, and I’m going to do everything I can to make it right. Starting with San Junipero, starting with getting you there for longer. Nicole told me something - something about her and the programme and if it’s true then you need all the time there you can get and - oh God, I’m so, so sorry - kiddo I’m - ”

But Wynonna loses the thread of her speech because Waverly really is crying now. She is crying and she can’t seem to stop herself. She feels Wynonna’s hands, damp from her own tears, on her cheeks and they are so warm on Waverly’s skin.

“No, no babygirl. Please don’t…no, no, no, no,”

Waverly cannot really say why she is crying. Of course she is sad; of course it breaks her heart to hear Wynonna struggling to let go. But it is more than that too.

She is crying because she hurt Nicole, but Nicole still seems to care enough to pass a message on to Wynonna; she is crying because Nicole is selfless and the guilt in Waverly is too much to bear.

She is crying simply because she loves Wynonna, and she thinks she might be falling in love with Nicole too.

She is crying because she feels completely full of love - and hope, and _hopelessness_ \- all at once and she thinks this is the only way that the feelings will ever fit within her.  

Thankfully, the tears dry up quickly once Wynonna is close by. Waverly _is_ sad, but that isn’t really what made her cry. Her tears were neither happy nor sad; they were just necessary.

When Wynonna is done brushing Waverly’s tears away, she does not step back as Waverly expects. In fact, for the first time in a long time, Wynonna sits herself on the edge of Waverly’s bed. Then, to Waverly’s surprise she shifts and settles, lying on what Waverly assumes must be a perilously thin slice of mattress with her body pressed close to Waverly’s. She slings an arm over Waverly’s stomach, pulling her into something close enough to a hug to make Waverly’s heart sing again.

She is used to it by now, the way her body houses too many dichotomous emotions. She has long since stopped trying to fathom it out.

Wynonna whispers her name close to her ear, and it sounds like a plea. “Waverly. I never wanted to make this all worse. It’s just so fucking _hard_ babygirl. It hurts so much and I’m so scared. No one on earth deserved all of this less than you. I’d switch places in a heartbeat, even though I know that’s not what you want to hear. But even so, that woman didn’t deserve what I said either.

“And I just can’t get that goddamn book out of my head. It’s _Latin_ , Waves. That shit is hard. And _boring_.” For the first time, Wynonna allows herself a moment of genuine humour as she makes the joke. “Someone with an ulterior motive doesn’t spend their downtime learning damn Latin if they don’t care. Especially if they’re sick. And I can’t even be a real bitch and tell myself the book was for show because she didn’t know I was coming. I’d already turned the visit down. She was just reading it because she wanted to. And that’s what I kept getting stuck on, all the time since Thursday night.”

Wynonna shuffles around and presses a kiss to Waverly’s cheek in an almost painfully sweet mirror of her daughter.

“It’s going to get better for you now Waves, I swear. I’m going to sign the papers. And then I’ll go back to Calgary for you. But in the meantime, you tell her yeah? If we get this sorted and you get to her before I do, you tell her that your sister’s an asshole who runs her big fat mouth off too quickly.”

And at that, Waverly’s heart breaks once again. Because she needs to tell Nicole those things first about herself before she can even start on whatever happened between Nicole and Wynonna.

She wants Nicole to hear it all, all the apologies she deserves, but she doesn’t know if she’ll ever find Nicole again.

Wynonna leaves with a promise to set the wheels in motion, and an apology that she cannot keep Alice waiting any longer.

“I have to go and pretend to enjoy looking at Christmas trees now,” she says with another little laugh, clearly wrung out but perhaps all the lighter for having removed this burden from her shoulders.

Waverly, however, still has days and days to go before she can even hope to assuage any of her own guilt. It seems set deeper in her skin now, dark like black ink, because Nicole had made such an effort to help her even after everything that had happened between them.

And, in truth, she worries that it has been almost a week since Wynonna saw Nicole.

Waverly has no idea how fast Nicole’s health is deteriorating now, but she still fears that she has missed her chance to make things right. And, in her heart, she still wants to ask Nicole one final time if she will stay. It seems hollow now, being granted more time on the program if she does not have someone to share it with.

All that time spent in San Junipero last time had shaken her up. Searching for Nicole in that buffeting wind and driving rain had been nothing like Waverly had ever experienced before and she cannot shake the feeling of it from her bones.

Even when Alice returns the next day as promised (this time quite literally pulling Rosita in tow), Waverly has never known the hours tick by more slowly than they do now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 ******~~Not Saturday~~**  
**Tuesday, 5 December 2023.  
**Calgary****

 

“We just think it would make it easier, Nicole,” Shae says, staring down at the bed with a tight, hardened expression. “You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“There’s no one I know there during the week,” Nicole replies, breath coming in short, pained pants. It is a struggle even to speak now. The pain is constant, and it feels like she is stuck in a fever. She sleeps fitfully day and night, but she can barely differentiate it from waking unless she is on a heavy dose of pain meds to level her out and give her a few hours of something close to normality. It is not quite right because she feels like she is floating, but the meds make her coherent and mentally present, at least.

Shae grimaces, but Nicole does not see it. “I understand that. But how is it not better than this?”

“Because I know what it means if I say yes. If I let you send me there at any old time of the week, whenever I get like this. It means it’s over.”

“I’m so sorry Nicole, I really am. But not going to San Junipero doesn’t change it, it just means you suffer while you’re still here.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **~~Not Saturday~~**  
**December 2006.  
**San Junipero.****

 

It is painfully strange to be in San Junipero during the week, even just within the confines of her own house.

Reasonably, it is no quieter here than on any other day because her house is so incredibly isolated. But the air feels different when Nicole arrives today; colder and stiller, as though something intangible was changed for good.

The house feels strange and unlike her own for perhaps the first time since she arrived in San Junipero.

Perhaps at the start it had taken a small adjustment, but Nicole had been ailing for years and completely incapable of moving out of her little inner-city apartment on the payouts she got. She might have been able to continue working for a time, but gradually even she was not dogged enough to pretend she could do her job well on full time hours. It got harder once the poison in her blood really set in.

And while so much of San Junipero had set her teeth on her edge, the house had fit Nicole so perfectly that it had been almost preferable to her real home. To the other one.

Nicole had dreamed of a place like this for herself once she got a little older, perhaps when she settled down.

City policing had been everything she wanted, but she knew she did not want it forever. She had grand designs of something more rural and remote - something just like her home in San Junipero.

But returning today, it no longer feels quite as homely as she is used to. Perhaps today it is a little less like sanctuary and a little more like confinement.

Something in coming here outside her regular hours frustrates her, almost as though she had been forced here against her own volition.

She wishes someone would just say it is to lessen the blow of her life’s last gasp. She wishes someone would just outright say that it is between isolation in San Junipero or the experience of fading away entirely.

But Nicole cannot begrudge others for skirting around the truth, because she has not been entirely honest herself.

It had not been a lie to say that she did not relish the idea of week-time visits to San Junipero when there was no one here to visit, but neither was it the complete truth.

The problem, really, is that she has not been back here since the argument.

The whole thing still feels a little surreal.

They had been in such a close, contented little bubble when, to her own mind, Nicole had ruined it all by speaking without proper forethought.

She had been planning to tell Waverly. Of course she had. How could she not?

But it was the kind of thing she needed to broach at the start of the evening, and not with scarcely half an hour to spare.

She had wanted to tell Waverly that night she took her hiking in the forest. Before they were even…

In part, that had been the intention of that mini hiking trip. Somehow, it felt like a better setting to discuss such a topic. Out in nature, with the ocean below them and the stars above - something about being there and talking plainly felt right.

But it had changed when Waverly had held her close on the clifftop. She had been so taken by the view and Nicole did not want to spoil it for her.

It seems odd to consider that this was all at a time when Nicole truly and sincerely believed that Waverly would never reciprocate her romantic feelings.

In truth, Nicole had been attracted to Waverly on day one - drawn to her like a moth to a flame the instant she walked into that bar looking scared and so very alone.

It had taken very little time for it to settle into something deeper than physical attraction. Arguably, it was on that very first night, or perhaps Waverly’s second visit - when they were up on the roof together. But if either was in question, then Nicole was certainly a goner in the instant that Waverly Earp fixed an ugly pair of Tyler Durden sunglasses on her face and gave Nicole a dressing down by way of a Shania Twain classic.

By the time they were sharing cotton candy and riding a ferris wheel, Nicole had known there was no going back.

She had also known it was stupid to develop feelings like this, in a place like San Junipero. It was even worse knowing that she did not especially want to stay.

(There had been no choice to stay for so many people in Nicole’s life. Not the people she couldn’t save as a police officer; not her beloved grandmother - the only one who truly mitigated the effects of her parents’ neglect; not a single one of the people who lost their lives in a bloodbath that should have been a music festival…

Why should Nicole endure when they could not? Why should she endure in a place where no one was familiar and she had no one to spend this strange eternity with? How could she go on forever, persistently suffering the guilt-heavy nightmares of a massacre she alone had survived?)

But in spite of every rational thought in her head there had been no choice in the matter. Waverly had simply appeared in her life and Nicole had fallen. The cliff was steep and the drop was fast and Nicole had never been less afraid to plunge into freefall.

But never once did Nicole believe that Waverly saw her as anything but a friend.

Waverly seemed to need salvation just as much as Nicole, but it was a long time before Nicole even suspected that there was a possibility that their relationship might shift.

She had fought to bury the crush down deep, because any existence with Waverly was a blessed thing and it wasn’t enough to simply say that she needed _more_ . It wasn’t fair or accurate to say that a shift in their relationship would equal _more_ . It would just equal _different_.

A friendship alone was enough to court the first stirrings of a change in her decision. Nicole all but feels the moment when her heart shifts and the first desire to keep coming to San Junipero takes hold.

(There is Chinese takeaway. There is Matt Damon’s Mark Watney in space. There is _Waverly_. She is pressed into Nicole’s side like Nicole was fashioned just so, because Waverly would one day fit against her seamlessly. Waverly drops her head on Nicole’s shoulder and Nicole feels it then: an eternity just like this).

And even if Nicole secretly still longed to cross that unspoken boundary line between them, she had always known it was Waverly’s step to make. The picture of them together - in any capacity - was what carried her through any number of painful, sleepless nights. When she did sleep, she awoke to the sound of Waverly’s laughter still ringing in her ears from whatever dream she had been having. She fancied she could smell Waverly’s hair on her hospital pillows.

But somehow, she still does not expect it when Waverly starts to show signs of Feelings-with-a-capital-f.

It still catches her unawares when Waverly tries to kiss her on a whirling, glowing dance-floor, and somehow she is still not prepared when Waverly really _does_ kiss her. It doesn’t feel real.

It feels as if she is no longer falling, but flying instead.  

And it feels, for the first time, like her newfound resolve to endure in San Junipero is not completely absurd. It no longer feels lacking in a solid foundation, not if Waverly might be falling too.

Suddenly, the notion of staying on in San Junipero doesn’t feel exhausting or emotionally fraught. It feels right.

Nicole feels ready.

But telling Waverly the truth is hard, even if it is only to say _I’m not signed up to stay, but I think I’m changing my mind_.

Nicole knows it is her fault that Waverly found out all wrong; it is the price they have both paid for Nicole’s decision to guard a secret for a little too long. She had been trying to protect them both, but she sees now how she should have opened up sooner.

Even so, Waverly’s reaction had taken Nicole by surprise.

There had been a fear on Waverly’s face, one that Nicole did not think she, Waverly, was even aware of.

Nicole knew a little of the loss in Waverly’s life, but she had not been so presumptuous as to connect any dots back to her decision to come to San Junipero permanently. Naturally, she knew how much Waverly cared for her, but perhaps Nicole had not believed in herself instead. Perhaps she had not believed she could ever leave a hole so large in someone else's life. Certainly, that was not the case back at home. Back at home there was no one, and Nicole had long since forgotten what it was when there was a _someone_ to love her back.

Either way, it had shocked her that the decision had stung Waverly so deeply and, in truth, Waverly’s knee-jerk temper had shocked Nicole too.

It had not made her think any less of Waverly, only that the reaction was something both unexpected and yet paradoxically completely obvious. Waverly’s draw to the ocean had always made perfect sense to Nicole; the sea was a kindred spirit to her, both of them powerful and composed of unimaginable depths.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Nicole thinks to be angry. Waverly had every right to feel deceived but so much of her reaction was unfair too.

Mostly though, Nicole just wants some closure now.

She wants to make amends and turn the world the right way up again. She can only hope that Waverly feels the same.

That had been the plan since the clock hit midnight on the day of the argument, but then there had been Wynonna and things had remained upside down for yet another week.

Perhaps Earps shared their tempers like a hive mind, because Wynonna had closed herself off just as quickly as Waverly when things got real. The whole interaction had drained Nicole for days and she had never really recovered or regained her energy after that.

Perhaps this was it then, the thing that started the last decline.

She missed her visit to San Junipero for what felt like nothing - Wynonna had not listened, after all - and in what little waking time she had, Nicole tied herself up in knots worrying what Waverly might think of it all.

It hurt to think that Waverly might believe she had driven Nicole away, or that she might even think Nicole was gone for good.

Nicole had no intentions of going anywhere - certainly she would not being doing anything so absurd as dying - without saying goodbye, but in truth her decision about permanence here in San Junipero had been made and now unmade again in the wake of the argument. If Waverly does not want her here then she is not sure she sees the point in staying at all.

The unfamiliar feeling of her own house does not help.

It has never felt like this before and the difference, she knows, is Waverly.

Nicole had never been one to part on bad terms, and a strange midweek trip to San Junipero was only serving to remind her how things had gone wrong.

It feels as though everything is slipping through her fingers, and for all she has denied being scared about what is facing her, she is, in fact, terrified beyond words.

Because if Wynonna Earp was blatantly not ready to let her sister go, then Nicole Haught was not ready to let her own life go either.

She was caught in indecision, and she half-suspects that Shae had cajoled her back to San Junipero to give her some proper thinking time.

It was hard to hold onto a cogent thought in her other reality, but here things were almost too still and quiet.

She potters around her house, fixing herself a coffee and switching on the radio. It is not until a song filters through the speakers that she realises how far back in time she had sent herself.

She had been fifteen at the time. It had been a year of firsts.

The first time she had decided for sure that she was going to be a cop. Her very first kiss. By extension, the first time she truly accepted herself as gay.

She had known her own heart for years in both contexts - career and attractions - but her parents were so resistant to the former and utterly silent on the latter.

But Nicole had been certain of so much that year, and she cannot remember a time before the age of fifteen when she felt more free to follow her own path.

She had realised, at that time, what it was to believe in herself. Once that fell into place, she realised that she didn’t especially need much else.

She wonders now where all that easy certainty had gone. Today, she knew only a grand total of two things about herself:

 

  1. She was going to die
  2. She was in love with Waverly Earp



 

No other part of her mind felt clear to her, nothing else made it through the fog that seemed to have settled around her brain.

She drains her coffee and settles on the idea of a walk along the beach.

Admittedly the weather is cold, but it is dry and the tide is low. A bracing walk felt infinitely better than being cooped up inside. She could run some errands at the same time.

She heads upstairs in search of a warm winter coat and some gloves, doing her level best not to stop and stare at the pictures of Waverly she had left up in a big photo frame on one wall.

She does not want to think of them as frozen in time, restricted only to the memories already captured. But she does not know where they stand, and she can only wait and hope she gets a chance to find out.

She is wrapped up warm and ready to leave the bedroom when she notices it.

There is something glinting oddly on her pillow, something Nicole does not remember leaving there.

Something fires up in the back of her mind before she even approaches the bed, but already she knows she is on the right tracks.

She slips a glove back off again as she sees the object as a necklace, the shape of it as familiar to Nicole as her own skin.

A slim chain connected to a deer pendant, its two little antlers connecting the links at the center.

With a shaky breath, Nicole scoops it up and lets the silvery chain slide over her fingers like water.

The metal has grown cold in the winter air and it is almost like a shock to Nicole.

There is only one way it could have gotten here, only one other person who knows Nicole’s house so well that they could have willed the necklace here in any era.

Waverly.

She had been here on Saturday.

_She had come to look for Nicole._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 ~~**Not Saturday** ~~ ( **Friday, 8 December 2023).  
** ****San Junipero. 2012.  
**Visit 22.0******

 

There is a pleasant bout of December sunshine cascading down from the San Junipero sky, but it is bitterly cold nonetheless.

The rain is gone, however, and the wind has calmed right down to nothing. It is almost impossible to believe that there had been such a storm brewing just a week before. Waverly can only hope that this is a good omen of sorts.

Those last visits still feel dream-like and distant, and it would be wonderful to write them off entirely as nightmares. But they were real, and now it is time to try and face them again.  

Waverly is outside Nicole’s door once more. This is completely by design.

She does not wish to waste any time. She just wants Nicole.

For the second time in two weeks, she is back where it all started. 2012.

Something in her chest tells her that if Nicole is here, she will wait for Waverly.

Her hand shakes as she lifts it to knock on the door.

The sound rattles through the piercing winter air.

Heart in her mouth, Waverly waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exhaaaale. So I'm hoping that, although this chapter feels angsty a-f to me, it actually has little elements of hope weaved in now? As you can see from the chapter count we're on the home strait now, just one more full length to go and a "little" concluding chapter. Plus, I might, miiight, be testing out the possibility of a few oneshots or drabbles that take place in the universe but that I either scrapped for flow/narrative or never put in in the first place. 
> 
> As ever, I'd really appreciate hearing your thoughts on all of this; on how it's progressed and what you hope/think it's coming up over the next two weeks.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, and do take care


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for everyone to make some very, very important decisions. Let's just hope it's not too late...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! 
> 
> I can't believe this is the last full chapter!! Although, to be fair, the final chapter isn't that much shorter. I really, really don't do brevity. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this fic, whether you've followed from the start or, as I'm being told atm by a few people, have binge-read to this point. It's still kind of crazy to me that people want to read the stuff I write. 
> 
> This chapter is designed to tie the current narratives together and then we'll shift around a little bit for the closing chapter/epilogue thingybob. I don't think there's anything I need to say, just to keep those pesky dates I'm putting in bold in mind again, and perhaps to consider when things in the last chapter took place. I hope you enjoy and please check out the end note!!

******~~Not Saturday.~~**  
**Wednesday, 6 December 2023.  
**Purgatory****

 

Once the decision is made, it turns out to be a remarkably quick process to change Waverly’s dosage.

No one could really have imagined that things would progress so rapidly and it is only that Waverly is straining at the reins to speak with Nicole that she does not fall back on her own worries about missing out at home. She does not want to miss out on Alice’s visits or the family updates, but something in her soul just tells her that she is ready for the change.

They do say it is as good as a rest, after all. And Waverly has been resting and half-dormant for far too long. She is sick of having too much time to think.

She has over-thought her own recent misdemeanours, almost thinking the whole thing to death.

She has fixated on Wynonna’s confession too.

In fact, it takes her a little while to wrap her head around the whole thing.

At first, it simply does not compute that her sister and Nicole had argued. However, by all accounts it was not really an argument in the typical sense. Both Wynonna and Nicole had been wrapped up in their own sources of sadness, and those conditions seemed to have worked against them both.

Of course, Waverly can understand that perfectly.  

More than that, neither she nor Wynonna were renowned for their ability to think rationally when it came to the ones they loved. Wynonna had always been one to move and heaven and earth for the right people, and Waverly had been parted from so many that she had immediately lashed out at the merest hint of losing Nicole.

Waverly could understand why all the bad things had happened recently, but it didn’t make it any easier a pill to swallow.

It is hard to think that both she and Wynonna had put Nicole through so much negativity, almost at the same time…

There was no one in the universe who deserved that less than Nicole Haught, especially not right now. Not when she needed support more than ever.

Wynonna had said that Nicole looked sick. That is something which Waverly cannot seem to shake off.

Wynonna had never seen Nicole as Waverly had, so if even she thought that Nicole looked unwell then things must be worse than Waverly was allowing herself to imagine.

The thought only makes Waverly feel more frantic than ever.

She had to get to San Junipero and find Nicole. She had to ask - _beg_ \- Nicole to stick around, even just for a little while.

She had to make amends and tell Nicole what she _really_ felt in her heart when it wasn’t weighed down with blind fear of being left behind yet again.

There is no sense in spending longer in the city if Nicole is not going to be there.

Because that was what it came down to really. Waverly had been getting ready to spend more time somewhere _because_ Nicole would be by her side. And now, even after a relatively short space of time, there didn’t seem much point to San Junipero if she was there alone.

This thought occurs to her almost immediately after Wynonna’s visit, and for the first time she understands Nicole’s thought process.

For Waverly, who did not have the kind of prognosis Nicole had suffered, there had been a time when _anything_ felt better than _nothing_. But now she has seen what it could be to just pass her time in San Junipero lost and alone, she sees that it is not always quite that simple.

Nicole had found Waverly on her very first night. Even if, at the start, she was unsure and half-prepared for Nicole to leave, Waverly had never really faced the city on her own.

But Nicole had.

She had gone for weeks, for _months_ , without even a good friend to lean upon.

It breaks Waverly’s heart to think of it now, because Nicole had hinted enough to make it clear that she did not really have anyone at home either. Her parents had turned their backs on Nicole, and Nicole was too proud to ask for help from them now. By all accounts, they did not even know she was dying. She didn’t have a partner, she didn’t have siblings…

A few of her old colleagues had kept in touch, but that was the sum total of it all really.

Waverly had grown so resentful of her existence over the years she had been subjected to it, and she had felt alone. Lord knows, she had felt alone.

But she had never been alone like Nicole had _until_ San Junipero. And Nicole had saved her almost immediately.

 _Of course_ Nicole would have put no thought into whether she stayed or not. Of course it was only over time that she would have maybe changed her mind.

Waverly just hadn’t thought of it like that at the time.

And now she had no idea whether she would be able to tell Nicole that, finally, she _understood_.

So when Wynonna turns up on Wednesday with the news that Waverly fulfils the criteria for a higher tier of the San Junipero program, she cannot even bring herself to hesitate. The relief simply washes over her, and it is a joy to finally feel something good again.

This change is what she needed to happen.

She has to get on with her life again.

She has make amends.

She knows that, realistically, there is still a lot stacked against her. Even the logistics of finding Nicole seem daunting - there are so many places _and_ times to search - but if there is one thing Waverly believes in now, it is the strength of her connection with Nicole.

It seems to transcend everything, even the argument that had passed between them. Just as Waverly had somehow known that Nicole had not made it to the city last Saturday night, Waverly felt certain she could find Nicole if only they were both in San Junipero at once.

And failing this instinctual connection, Waverly knows that she will be happier when she can simply take charge again rather than laying and waiting for others to help her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she arrives, Wynonna is still cagey and quiet.

Waverly supposes this, in part, is to do with the pressure of signing Waverly up to San Junipero for longer. It has been unspeakably difficult for her, Waverly knows as much.

But there seems to be more to it than that; the guilt Wynonna seems to feel regarding her visit to Nicole’s hospital is clinging to the air between them.

Because Wynonna has no confirmation that Waverly is not completely furious about the whole thing, and she seems to still be scared that she has done irreparable damage.

The truth, however, is that Waverly was not furious and as far as she was concerned, there was no damage between them at all. She would be lying if she said she was not frustrated at her sister, but it did not run deeper than that.

In an ideal world, Waverly would have liked to believe that a meeting between Wynonna and Nicole could have brought her sister some comfort. Waverly is only frustrated that Wynonna did not feel she could accept it as such.

But Waverly understands how an altercation could have happened and as it is, she is in no place to take any moral high ground anyway. She had hardly handled things any better, after all.

As such, Wynonna is subdued when she sits herself down. It must be before lunchtime - Waverly can tell as much by the nurses’ routines - and by the sounds of things a torrential downpour is taking hold outside.

She can hear the squeak of Wynonna’s shoes against the tiles and imagines her sister to be sopping wet and far from impressed.

“So. It turns out that if you ask the right kinds of questions, there are people who make things move crazy fast.” Wynonna pauses for a moment and seems to reconsider her initial statement. “Or it could be that Dolls and Jeremy did the asking. They still get through to the right people quicker.

“Anyway, point being: I have the papers right here. They’re happy to get you out of here for longer,” Wynonna adds, evidently choosing her words very carefully. “Obviously if you object, your ability to opt out still supersedes everything. But we decided it’d be closer to a fifty-fifty split. You don’t need to come back at night if you don’t want to - because obviously we’re not really allowed to stay late. Jeremy and Rosita are happy to do movies around the new days and times, so you won’t miss out on their visits.”

Wynonna goes on to detail out the days and times she has worked out, based on when people most commonly visit. She has gone above and beyond, running the schedule past the whole family as well as the Nedleys to make sure that no one is missed out and as a result lost to Waverly. And in the end, it seems like far more than a fifty-fifty split. It feels like her time in San Junipero will be vastly increased; it feels like her opportunities are  _boundless._

It all seems perfect, and it takes every last scrap of emotional strength left in her body not to cry.

There is no way she can tell Wynonna with her own voice that she is grateful, but she already believes that her sister _knows_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 ******~~Not Saturday~~**  
**Thursday, 7 December 2023.  
**Calgary****

 

“I have to keep things confidential,” Dr Pressman says, and Wynonna notices for the first time that she looks tired and drawn. “But I’m going to tell you that things have got a lot worse for my patient since you were last here.” Her voice is quiet and pulled tight, like she is severely unimpressed but trying to be professional.

Wynonna cannot say she blames her.

She is not one for regrets or shame, but she is somewhat embarrassed about her last visit here. The news that Nicole has deteriorated makes it even worse and Wynonna cannot help but wonder if she is to blame.

“I can understand that,” she says, trying her best to soften her tone and her stance, working hard to look as though she is not a woman on the cusp of falling apart entirely. “And I’m sure I haven’t helped matters. That’s why I’m here. I need to apologise, not just for me but for my sister too. Before it’s too late.”

The doctor nods and seems to take Wynonna’s words at face value, although she has no reason to do so.

“Well I can’t pretend I’m not glad that you want to offer Nicole some closure. But the problem is that she is in a lot of pain, so we’ve ensured she isn’t around too much to feel it. She’s been on the program a lot recently.”

“A lot,” Wynonna echoes, determined to press the matter as far as she can without going full asshole. “But that must mean not all of the time. Please. I’m just asking for minutes, not hours - if that's all that's possible. Whatever Nicole wants, whatever is best for her.”

The doctor visibly bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks.

“We take her off in the late afternoon to assess her obs, talk through her state with her, and administer her medication. She goes back on when she's dealt with as much as she can. Which is more than I'd like, in honesty.”

Wynonna chances a quick glance to the clock on the wall. It had been impossible to miss its loud, obtrusive ticking.

 _5:40pm_.

The doctor watches as Wynonna’s eyes dart back.

“How long do you have _this_ Thursday?” she asks, biting back a wry smile.

Wynonna lets the snide air of the question pass - if anything the doctor had kind of earned that one.

She sets her jaw.

“As long as it takes.”

At this, Dr Pressman’s smile shifts into something that looks as though it should be happy, but is still painfully sad around the edges too.

“Okay. Well I think we can work with that.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doctor reappears nearly an hour later, looking somehow even more tired than before.

“She said she’ll see you.”

If anything, she looks as surprised as Wynonna feels. Another stab of guilt hits her right in the stomach. There is no reason that Nicole should be so accommodating.

“Thank you,” Wynonna says quietly, standing and waiting to be lead away.

“It’s not me you need to thank,” Dr Pressman points out. “And you know I have to tell you that if there’s even a hint of things getting out of hand then we’ll be cutting it short.”

“I know,” Wynonna replies quickly, “but they won’t. Not this time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole looks worse than before.

Even so, it is still hard for Wynonna to get a read on what is wrong with her. In fact, if Nicole had not alluded to a supernatural attack last time, then it would almost look as though she simply had a bad fever.

Her skin looks clammy and warm, and her body is laid out on the bed as if she is pain but cannot find a more comfortable position and has simply given up trying for one. But still her eyes are bright and alert, still there is so much spark beneath the surface.

She tries for a valiant smile when Wynonna approaches, but it falls a little flat.

“Wynonna.”

“Yeah. Um. Hi.”

The silence is nothing short of painfully awkward, and it is hard for Wynonna not to bolt there and then. She is still no good with all this sadness, even if she is above running away from this.

Nicole’s eyes dart to the chair beside her bed. “You can sit down, you know.”

“I really hate these things,” Wynonna mutters to herself as she settles on the offending piece of furniture.

“I’m sure you do,” Nicole says, although she was not supposed to hear the comment. There is a note of genuine sympathy in her voice and it breaks Wynonna’s heart.

“How uh - I know it’s a stupid question but - ”

“Other than the dying part, I’m fine,” Nicole says with a laugh, and although Wynonna knows she should play along with the joke she cannot seem to find the conviction to do so.

“I’m sorry,” Wynonna says, before clarifying. “About last time I was here I mean, but also about…”

“It’s fine. About the last time you were here. I’ve had worse,” Nicole says wryly and it takes Wynonna a beat or two to work out that the other woman is still joking.

“Well at least you haven’t lost your sense of humour,” Wynonna quips back, and is relieved to see that it was the right thing to do when Nicole’s smile grows. It still does not sit as well on her face as it might once have done, but it seems genuine all the same.

“Every cloud, huh?”

“I guess,” Wynonna says, growing serious again. “But I really am sorry. And I know you said it’s fine but I’d like it if I could try and explain myself.” Wynonna waits and Nicole spreads her palms as if to say, _go ahead_. “Well, I’m sure it won’t take a genius to work out that I’m scared. And trust me, I know that’s insensitive as hell to say to you right now. But I am. Scared. Waverly’s my baby sister. Once upon a time when we were both just kids, I let myself walk away from our home for a long time. And I sort of don’t go in for regrets and all that bullshit, but I do regret all the time I wasted with her. And I’d have felt that way anyway, but now it’s worse. I just kept getting through the past few years - barely, mind - by telling myself that she was coming back one day. But every time I agree to more of this San Junipero stuff, I have to start accepting that maybe she’s not coming back to me ever.”

“I understand,” Nicole says softly. “Really, I do.”

“I know. Which makes it all the worse that I came in here so defensive. There’s so much you could have told me about Waves’ time in the city and instead I just melted down. So I know you’re saying it’s fine, but  I really would like it if you’d accept my apology. I know I don’t deserve it but - ”

“I accept your apology,” Nicole says simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world for her to do.

In her relief, Wynonna cannot help but laugh, and Nicole flashes her a questioning look.

“It’s taken me all this time, and having a kid, to even try and get real with people and talk about serious emotional shit. You just forgave a total stranger like that.” Wynonna clicks her fingers. “Like it was nothing.”

“I _do_ forgive you. But even if I didn’t it wouldn’t do me any good as I am now to hang onto something that’ll just poison me faster. Dying sort of has a way of putting things into perspective.” Nicole laughs, but this quickly turns into a cough and a wince. When she recovers, she adds, “plus, you’re forgetting something.”

This time, it is Wynonna who furrows her brow. “What?”

Nicole grins, and for the first time Wynonna sees the real character beneath the physical deterioration.

“You’re not a _total_ stranger now, are you Earp?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly had, as it turns out, told Nicole everything about the whole family. The blood family and the not-blood family too.

Nicole might never have met Wynonna before but she knew more than Wynonna would ever have expected.

It almost overwhelms her entirely to think of Waverly spending all that time talking endlessly about Wynonna and the rest of the team.

And it doesn’t help either, that Nicole had clearly listened so carefully and attentively.

 _She must really care about her_ , a little voice says in the back of Wynonna’s head. At first, her initial knee-jerk reaction is once again to be suspicious, but she soothes it before she can act outwardly. She had been through all of this already and she had decided to trust Nicole.

“It’s still hard to wrap my head around,” she admits when Nicole finishes speaking.

“I can only imagine. I still find it hard to believe most of the time, and I actually experience it. I can’t imagine what you must feel.”

After a pause, Wynonna finally brings herself to ask something she has both dreaded and craved to find out.

“What’s it like there? What does she do - what do you both do - there?"

Nicole smiles, looking wistful and faraway in the best of ways. It is like she is recalling something wonderful, and Wynonna feels her heart twist. For perhaps the first time she feels hopeful about San Junipero.

“It’s wonderful,” Nicole says gently, still smiling. “But that’s the point, I suppose. A beautiful, clean city. Large but not too large - with quiet areas and bustling areas and whatever you could want. There’s a beach, a forest, a pier. It’s winter now, so we stay indoors mostly. We’re currently tackling a big museum. She won’t let us stay there all Saturday or even go every week. She thinks I’ll get bored. I keep trying to tell her not to worry but…” Nicole shrugs, looking as though it costs her body a lot to move that way. “She’s Waverly.”

Wynonna smiles. “That she is. You see her most weeks, yeah?”

“Every week,” Nicole corrects gently, and Wynonna can see her watching carefully - likely for any new signs of defensiveness. “I wait around until she gets there. Then we just do whatever takes our fancy.”

Wynonna nods, thinking to herself for a moment.

It is obvious from her careful, clipped tone that there is a lot Nicole is not telling her. She has her suspicions, but only from the way Nicole looks when she speaks about Waverly. It had never before entered Wynonna’s head that Waverly might be…that she might like...

Well, that part doesn’t matter one iota either way.

But Wynonna knows that she should worry about other parts of this. Not least that in this crazy, messed-up situation it is possible that both Nicole and her sister are seeking something to fill a void.

 _Then again,_ Wynonna thinks, _who could blame them…_

She supposes this is the kind of big sister act she would always have done, worrying that Nicole will look out for Waverly - whatever they are to each other. No doubt, she _will_ sit and worry when she has a moment to herself on the drive home. But when it comes down to it, Wynonna knows she has to trust Waverly.

Nicole is fine. She seems nice, dependable even. Perhaps a little goody-goody. But if Waverly likes her, then that will have to be enough for Wynonna too.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that so much anymore. Waiting around for my sister. Running out of time at the museum.”

Nicole’s mournful brown eyes grow wide for a moment.

“You…”

“Yeah,” Wynonna says, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of talking about it. She might be getting real with this woman, but she sure as hell isn’t going to cry in front of her. “Nothing close to full-time. Just longer. A lot longer. It’s stupid, and selfish really, because I was holding on for me. It's especially stupid because I can be there whether she’s got the device on or not - it’s no different from my perspective. But there’s something about knowing she’s not _here_ , you know? Something about knowing she can’t tell that I’m there.”

“Well, for what it's worth, I know you know her better than I do but - ”

“ - that was a stupid thing to say. It was unfair. You can forget I said that.”

Nicole shrugs again and it looks no less painful than the time before.

“It’s probably accurate. You’ve known her longer, after all. But I can tell you that giving her the chance to live more fully in both places - you’ve made her happier than I can say. It’s the perfect decision. And it wasn’t selfish to struggle to make it.”

“You’re impossibly nice, you know that right? Like, annoyingly nice.”

Nicole laughs. “That’s _so_ what I was aiming for.”

Wynonna returns the laughter, but things fade to sadness again quickly. It seems impossible to sustain mirth here, with both of them caught up in their own respective whirlwinds.

“I’m going to miss her,” Wynonna says out of nowhere. “I already do, so it’s stupid that I’ll miss her more. But I will. Like I always knew in my empty time that I could go to her if I wanted to. Now I’ll have to work around a schedule.”

Nicole grows sombre with her. “Well, why don’t you put that extra empty time to another use instead?”

Wynonna narrows her eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I have to take a bathroom break, that okay?” Wynonna says quickly, and Nicole nods, looking as though she sees through the excuse like it is made of glass.

Wynonna manages a contained, natural gait until she gets out of the room, and then she all but hurtles for the nearest bathroom.

She cannot tell how she feels, only that her heart is racing and her palms are covered in sweat.

She had known something was coming by the way Nicole had started her speech, all but begging Wynonna to understand that under any other circumstances she would never divulge information that had been told to her in complete confidence.

“I’d never do it to anyone, but especially not to her,” Nicole had said, voice plainative but weak. “I need you to hear that. But I think she’d want you to know this. I can’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want you to have the truth.”

Wynonna had just about managed to listen to the story that followed without excusing herself, but as soon as Nicole was finished she knew she needed to take a moment to herself.

_It all made sense._

Of course it came back to that afternoon with Willa and Bobo.

Of course it came back to the moment when all those demons started to escape.

Some kind of twin demon. Humanoid but monstrous; lots of ugly teeth.

She thinks she would have remembered one like that. Certainly one of the team would have. She cannot be sure, but she thinks it is still out there.

And if it is still out there, then maybe...

She fires off a quick text to the whole team, asking them all to prioritise the case but without saying why. It would do no good to get everyone else’s hopes up too.

Eventually, after a few quiet moments and a splash of cold water, she makes it back into Nicole’s room and finds her waiting patiently.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“What if we save her? What if we save her and get her back. But you…”

“I didn’t do it for me -”

“Nicole listen - “

“- no please. I need to say this. I did it for her. It was _always_ for her. Everything is now. You thought I wanted you to give her more time in San Junipero because I wanted to keep her - ”

“- I’m so sorry for that Nicole. I wish I could say it properly but I'm no good at this stuff.”

"Your apology was enough, Wynonna. I'm not saying this to make you feel bad. I’m saying it because I wanted to tell you what put Waverly in the hospital last time you visited. That was always the intention and it's been the intention since. Because I’m not going to...d- to _leave_ without you knowing. Without giving you a chance to fix this for her.” Nicole pauses, pulls a face, and amends her sentence. “Well, that’s most of it anyway.”

“What’s the other part?”

Nicole gives a sheepish, half-embarrassed smile. “I just need you to know that I want the best for Waverly. I don’t want to try and keep her in San Junipero for no reason. If you can save her, then save her. Don’t worry about me.”

It hits Wynonna then, hard, just how close she came to throwing this chance away forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What about you then? All this supernatural shit ruining everything. Can I ask what happened to you?”

“How long do you have?” Nicole asks, intending it as a joke.

Wynonna levels a serious look at her instead.

“As long as you want me here.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Jeremy, what kind of creature bites and leaves too much iron in your blood?_

_Is this the start of a joke?_

_No, idiot - I’m deathly serious. Just look it up. Make it priority number one._

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you going to talk to Waves about this? About me coming here?” Wynonna asks, both women watching idly as a nurse administers about a hundred different medicines through Nicole’s IV line. This sort of stuff is just par for the course now.

(Nicole's painkillers had started wearing off, and ordinarily they would have sent her back to San Junipero by now. But when Doctor Pressman comes round Nicole shocks everyone by asking for longer with Wynonna. They cannot give her too much more medication, but they can string things out a little longer.

"I don't normally ask for more pain meds," Nicole tells Wynonna in a whisper as a nurse prepares the drugs nearby. "I don't like how they make me feel so dizzy, like I'm only half here.")

“Well, considering I haven’t had the chance to tell her about the last time…”

“I did. I told her. I wanted to own up. And to tell her I was sorry.”

“I get that, and I'm happy you got to tell her your side.” Nicole says, smiling and thanking the nurse when she leaves. “But I wouldn’t have said anything, you know. I still wouldn't, assuming I get to go back. Not unless Waverly asks. I wasn’t mad, or resentful, or out for revenge or anything. I wasn't about to drop you in it with your sister. Believe it or not Earp, I do understand why you reacted the way you did. You love Waverly and I'm a stranger; it would have been weird if you had taken me at face value right away.”

Wynonna swallows a lump in her throat. There is so much she could say to Nicole in response, but there is one thing that matters more than anything else now.

"I don't want either of us to _assume_ anything, Nicole. You need to go back."

At this, Nicole's face falls and she sighs, looking suddenly close to tears for the first time since Wynonna had turned up.

“Your sister - she didn’t exactly take it well when she found out I hadn’t changed my paperwork yet. I wanted to, obviously. I just wanted to talk it through with her first so we were on the same page. But we didn’t part on good terms. I’m not sure she’ll want to see me. So I don’t know if I should...you know...”

“No. No, no, no. None of this noble, so-nice-it’s-disgusting, idiot stuff now.”

“Wow, _thanks_.”

“I’m serious. I just signed my sister up for extra time there - you can’t leave her all alone.”

Nicole laughs, but even in the space of time that Wynonna has been present, the sound has started to rattle more and more unpleasantly in Nicole’s chest.

“It's man-made heaven, Wynonna. That's kind of the point - everything gets righted. She has a whole machine looking out for her. If I can, I’ll see her Saturday. Or tomorrow, I guess - assuming the new schedule starts up right away. If she wants to see me, I'll be there waiting for as long as I can.”

Wynonna swallows and tries to speak, but a sudden and unexpected rush of emotion hits her. She has vowed the whole time not to cry, but it is bad enough that Nicole will be able to see the tears building up.

“I'm scared, Nicole.”

This time, her admission sets Nicole off with another bout of wracking laughter.

“Yeah, you and me both man.”

“I hate thinking of the times she might be there all alone. Like last time I was here, and you couldn't even make it to San Junipero afterwards. It was _my_ fault Waverly was alone and there's no point you trying to tell me otherwise."

Nicole, who had been trying to protest, falls silent and lets Wynonna continue speaking.

"Even if San Junipero on her own is better than what she's got here, I don't just want to give her a life that's a bit less terrible. I want the best for my baby sister. I don't know if that's you, but I've got to try _something_."

Wynonna feels the tears threaten at the corners of her eyes and takes a deep, fortifying breath in.

"Look, if it's what she wants..." Nicole says evasively, not really answering Wynonna's question.

Wynonna understands it is wrong to push. This is Nicole's life too. And the question she wants to ask is undeniably insensitive, but it starts working its way out of her mouth before Wynonna can stop it.

"But what if you - "

She comes to an immediate halt, but Nicole understands her anyway. She smiles, even though she should not.

"I'm still alive right now aren't I? Let's just say I'm doing my best right now, yeah?"

Wynonna sees the joke for what it is, and she gives a tiny, watery laugh. "You better. Because Lord knows the only thought that’s keeping me even close to sane is that if we don’t get her back before, then the day I’m done for I plan on heading to San Junipero to find her. But that’s not right now, is it? Right now she has to go alone. My baby sister.”

“It’s funny,” Nicole says, drifting off on a tangent. "Because this stuff is so new, but it’s almost hard to imagine now that people went through all this without really knowing. Maybe we don’t know how lucky we are in spite of all this shit. We know we’ll see our loved ones again. We just have to be patient.”

Once again, this skirts the point Wynonna is trying to make and she knows that soon she will let it drop. It looks as though Nicole is drifting again now, perhaps as her medication loses its grip again, letting the pain bleed through. She has not said as much, but there is discomfort painted all over her face.

“Those of us who choose the other option don’t have any guarantees,” Wynonna points out as gently as possible.

“It’s not all as bad as you’re imagining,” Nicole says softly, voice quiet and full of sympathy. “San Junipero is _beautiful_. And Waverly loves it there; she all but tells me every single week. She loves the beach and the city and the little cafes and bars. It’s a wonderful place - how couldn’t it be? I have a lovely house by the coast - and I really know she loves that. There’s always a space for her there - somewhere she feels safe. I know she went there last week when I couldn’t make it.”

“How?” Wynonna asks, her throat thick again. “How can you possibly know something like that?”

“She left me a sign,” Nicole says cryptically, her eyes now faraway again. She seems to lose a grip a little, but has a tiny smile on her face that only makes Wynonna’s heart ache all the more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You know you don’t have to stay right?” Nicole says as soon as she opens her eyes, almost as if she thinks that if she speaks quickly enough, no one will notice that she had drifted and dozed for quite a while. At one point Wynonna had worried, staring at Nicole's torso and willing her chest to rise and fall again. “It must be what, nine?”

“Nine thirty,” Wynonna amends with a wry smile, “but I’m not planning on hightailing it just yet.”

“You should,” Nicole protests, shifting in bed and looking uncomfortable. “Alice - ”

Wynonna wonders how often Nicole will be given pain meds now, or whether they will use San Junipero more and more in place of the drugs. Surely that has to be more effective. 

“She’s with her dad,” Wynonna says, before remembering to clarify. “Well, uh -  one of them. I forget not everyone is used to our weird little family.”

“It’s okay,” Nicole says softly. “Waverly told me.”

Wynonna cannot help but settle into a little smile of her own. Of course Waverly had explained it. And of course this unassuming woman in front of her had barely batted an eyelid. At least, based on every other interaction with Nicole, that is how Wynonna pictures it.

“Well, either way. She’s with someone she loves. I don’t like leaving her - not after I had to leave her with my...well, it’s in the past. But I’m good to stay in case, you know…” Wynonna says, before catching her train of thought and silently berating herself for not shutting up sooner. That is the second time she has nearly mentioned Nicole's impending death.

Just like last time, however, Nicole does not look remotely offended. Instead, she raises an eyebrow in a playful challenge.

“Not sure I do, no.”

It is a rare day when someone silences Wynonna Earp, but for a moment she does not know what to say. She does not know Nicole well enough to be certain that she is teasing, even if all signs point to this being her intention. Instead of speaking, she swallows and avoids Nicole’s eye.

Nicole laughs after a beat of silence and shakes her head.

In turn, Wynonna lets out a breath she did not realise she was holding.

Nicole levels a bold, confident stare at Wynonna. “It’s funny how everyone will immediately walk on eggshells as soon as you insinuate something about dying alone.”

“Yeah, crazy how it has that effect,” Wynonna bats back, still unsure as to how much leeway she has to joke. Sure, Nicole can make these jokes but there is no guarantee that she would appreciate a relative stranger doing so. It is still hard to say whether they are on even ground after the last visit, and Wynonna does not especially want to push it further than she already has.

Partly this is out of genuine care and concern - the woman seems nice and life has dealt her as shit a hand as it dealt Wynonna and Waverly. Partly - and selfishly, she knows - she wants to get her back to San Junipero sooner rather than later. For Nicole, yes, but also for Waverly.

Nicole grins, seemingly appreciative of the response.

“Well I might as well get something out of it,” Nicole adds, before looking around her hospital room a little sadly. “Since there’s not much else now after three decades on this planet.”

“I’m really sorry,” Wynonna says abruptly, thinking about something that had started playing at the back of her mind as Nicole slept. Again, she mentally kicks herself for being insensitive. She would have thought by now that she knew how to do this; how to find the right words.

Sometimes, however, she does not think that there _are_ any right words. Certainly, no one had found them for her - not that she did not appreciate it when Dolls, Doc, and the rest of the team had tried over the years.

“Don’t be,” Nicole says mildly. “I’ve had a long time to get used to it.”

“Not just for that,” Wynonna says, before catching herself for the umpteenth time that day. She feels her eyes go a little wide. “I mean. Yes obviously for that in and of itself…”

Wynonna feels her voice waver yet again. She really has no idea what she is doing. Happily, however, Nicole does not let her suffer for long.

“Well shit I hope you’re not getting soft on me now, not when I was starting to have faith in you.” Nicole says, grinning when Wynonna looks confused. “After how you left me last time, smoke still in the air from your all guns blazing methods. I kinda thought you were a hardass. But now you’re going back on it? And what? Because this stupid bite is killing me? I’m disappointed Earp.”  

In spite of herself, Wynonna snorts. “Wow. You truly _are_ an asshole. I kind of thought it but... _Wow_. I almost wish I’d gotten to know you before. We could have fun, I think.”

Nicole’s smile shifts, but does not grow sad. “I think so too. But I’ll just have to settle for your heartfelt bedside apology over this whole shitfest.”

This reminder sets Wynonna back on course. She clears her throat.

“I know it’s stupid, but I am sorry. I kinda feel like...if we’d done a better job of keeping the demons confined to just Purgatory...you know?”

Nicole’s expression shifts into something Wynonna cannot read.

“You really _are_ going soft on me.”

“I’m being serious,” Wynonna says, adding under her breath, “for once in my life.”

This makes Nicole smile.

“You don’t have to apologise for that,” Nicole says, expression softening again. “You don’t need to be sorry for having an impossible job. Just like you didn’t need to be sorry for grieving.”

“Waverly’s not - ” Wynonna says in a knee-jerk reaction.

“That’s not how grief works and we both know it.”

“But grief isn’t about taking shit out on others. That performance from last week was so far from okay.”

Nicole's mouth slips into a knowing half-smile. “I do get it you know. Big sister protective streak. And Waverly, she's...well... Let's just say I know I can't have been the first person to fall for her.”

Tears play at Nicole's eyes again, seemingly at the force of her admission. Or perhaps, Wynonna considers, at the force of her feelings. That, she decides quickly, is the kind of love Waverly deserves. It doesn't matter who it comes from. Even so, she decides it is brave of Nicole to set out her feelings so openly.

As it is, the other woman looks almost overcome to have said the words out loud. In turn, another wave of sadness wallops Wynonna right in the chest and she breaks her promise to herself not to cry in front of strangers.

Then again, she supposes it is hard to say whether Nicole really _is_ a stranger. They are relative unknowns to each other, but they have Waverly as the bridge between them and there could be no one in the world more skillful at such a thing.

Wynonna drags the heels of her hands roughly over her cheeks, using the cuff of her shirt pulled tight over her fingers in some strange amalgamation of a set of olive green mittens.

“God, you sure know how to sucker punch a girl in the gut,” she says quietly, struggling to keep up with how the conversation veers wildly from dark humour to pure and painful sadness. “I know I’ve tried to say it already, but what I said was wrong Nicole. I knew you weren’t trying to keep Waverly just because you were dying. It’s all just hard, and I guess it was a shock too - because how you felt was written all over your face, and Waverly had never told me...you know…about... _girls, women..._ ”

Nicole laughs at Wynonna's choice of words before growing serious again. “I’d say to not take it personally. It’s not my story to share, but she’d barely told _herself_ about them either.”

“Ah,” Wynonna says, “that’s actually nice to know, in some weird, perverted, selfish kind of way.”

A part of her is almost tempted to laugh - or a make a joke - about how they have both given up at entirely holding their emotions back. Anything, really, to relieve some of the tension. Because while both of them seem to be actively fighting any outbursts of open crying, but there is a rawer edge between them now - more honesty and fewer walls. There seems to be no point now - they have shared too much, even if most of that was through Waverly herself. Nicole, however, remains direct.

“Closure isn’t selfish Wynonna.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll even come close to closure until I know that Waverly has someone with her in San Junipero. Someone who loves her _almost_ as much as I do,” she says, managing a playful look in Nicole’s direction.

“Well, it’s good to know that the competitive thing is inherited," Nicole replies, taking the joke as it was intended.

Ignoring this comment, Wynonna goes on. “And I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t, somehow, already believe that you’re being honest, that you truly want to be with Waverly. Because I want you to go back to San Junipero. ASAP. You should get a shot at life now Nicole. A proper one. One with my sister.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wynonna waits a little longer, leaving Nicole laid out in her hospital bed. Finally she lays there, pain-free and, Wynonna suspects, as she has always done everything in life: gently but bravely.

Wynonna passes Dr Pressman on her way out, a significant and sombre look passing between them.

They do not speak. There are no words for situations like this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 ~~**Not Saturday** ~~ ( **Friday, 8 December 2023).  
**San Junipero. 2012.****

 

Things in San Junipero do not feel any less strange for Nicole after Wynonna’s second visit to the hospital, but there is perhaps a greater spark of optimism in her chest than there had been throughout the rest of the week.

The whole place, despite its beauty, had felt empty and even finding Waverly’s necklace had only settled her soul for a short time.

Without Waverly herself here it all felt a little less magical. There was no gilt sheen to the place without that promise of company, and of course Nicole no longer had any such promises.

After the argument with Waverly, there had been no real sense of certainty or of permanence; nothing had given Nicole an indication of the decision she should make or the path she should walk. It had taken Wynonna’s visit to do that. Their conversation had helped so much more than either of them could have anticipated.

Something tells Nicole that she and Wynonna were completely different people, that they might even have grated on each other in another life. But something also tells her that they would have got on despite that, finding common ground outside of their connections to Waverly.

Nicole cannot say that she expected Wynonna to return, but it had not shocked her all that much when she appeared at the hospital.

Closure was for both the living and the dying, just as they had discussed the night before.

She could not remember Wynonna leaving her, so she supposes she must have waited a long time for events to play out.

Nicole feels sorry for Wynonna. Hospitals were never a nice place to be at the best times and Nicole had been so far from the best of times last night.

At least in San Junipero today it is sunny. Nicole had always missed the weather patterns when she was stuck in bed.

She can tell, however, even just from looking outside that it is freezing too and if she is to venture outside then she will, once again, need her coat. She did not finish her errands the last time.

 _It’s all going to be okay now,_ Nicole tells herself over and over as she bundles up _. The worst of it is past, and it’s all going to be okay._

Even so, there is no chance of Waverly having left a trinket this time because Nicole knows she has not been to San Junipero. Wynonna had confirmed as much, and neither of them was sure how quickly Waverly’s new schedule would kick in.

Undeniably, there is a selfish spark in Nicole's chest that hopes they might see each other day, but at least Saturday visits were still a given either way.

If she has to wait a whole day here now, Nicole knows she would rather be busy.

So she slips on her coat and she leaves.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 ~~**Not Saturday** ~~ ( **Friday, 8 December 2023).  
** **San Junipero. 2012.  
**Visit 22.0****

 

Waverly's hand shakes as she raps her knuckles against Nicole’s front door.

It feels different this time, it _feels_ like Nicole is close by, but Waverly cannot say for sure whether she is simply believing what she wants to be true.

The air is clear and cold, and seems to reverberate to the sound of Waverly’s knock.

Her heart settles in her mouth, but it gets harder to hold onto hope as the seconds tick by. Surely, no matter what Nicole is doing, she would have made it to the door by now.

Waverly feels tears burn in her eyes, because if Nicole really isn't here (when everything in Waverly's body is screaming that Nicole is near) then perhaps their connection does not run as deep as Waverly thought.

Worse still, if Nicole is not in San Junipero now then maybe she will never be in San Junipero again. The thought hits Waverly hard and, for the first time in a long time, she truly believes she could turn her back on San Junipero altogether.

Perhaps she should not have been given extra time here. Perhaps she should still be at home with her family. Perhaps she should just give up -

“Waverly?”

The voice behind her is small and scared and a little unsure, but it is _hers_. It is Nicole’s.

Waverly whirls around and her heart twists when she sees Nicole there.

She looks so comforting, so _welcoming_ , in her thick winter coat and matching blue beanie-and-gloves set.

She is clutching onto a bulky-looking black trash bag, noticing immediately when Waverly glances at it.

“Driftwood. I thought it would be nice to dry out, get a fire going in the hearth over the winter. I know you get cold. But I wasn’t sure if you’d be here today, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone.”

“You wouldn’t have?”

Nicole’s face goes soft and slack. “No, baby. Of course not. I’d have waited. We could have gone together.”

The tears still in Waverly’s eyes well up and a few spill downwards. She tries to blink them away and hears one drop onto the ground with a little _pat_.

 _Nicole isn’t mad at her_.

It doesn’t seem possible and yet there she is, saying that she and Waverly could have ventured out together for a walk along the beach.

Here Nicole is, talking about lighting fires for Waverly _throughout_ winter, like they will be able to see the season through together…

At the sight of Waverly’s tears, Nicole makes as if to step forward and that is when Waverly sees it: the deer necklace around Nicole’s neck, visible where the zipper of her coat has worked itself a little loose.  

Waverly feels her breath catch.

 _Nicole found it._ Better still, she was wearing it. 

Nicole catches Waverly looking again, and her free hand twitches as though she thinks to take the thing off there and then.

“I just didn’t want to lose it,” she says, almost like she thinks she has to explain herself. “I wasn’t going to keep it - I was going to give it back to you. But it kind of made me feel close to you.”

“You should,” Waverly says quietly, “keep it, I mean.”

Nicole’s face creases into a hopeful little smile. “I mean, we could always share it, if you wanted?”

At this, Waverly entirely loses her battle not to cry.

Through her tears (and a few ugly sobs) she manages to ask, “do you still like me?”

She feels the absurdity of the question - like she is a kid in elementary school - and tries to make it sound a little less pathetic by speaking again.

“I mean, after all the awful, stupid stuff I said? I didn’t mean any of it Nicole, I promise I didn’t. I was just scared and I didn’t think, and I swear to God if I could take it all back I would. I just want you to stay here in San Junipero. Forever. With me. And if you still at least like me a little, I can work on everything from there, I can make things better again I _swear_ \-  ”

She stops abruptly when she sees the way Nicole’s face crumples under the weight of the raw emotion drifting between them.

Waverly feels something inside her chest buckle, her heart a tin can beneath someone's boot. For one brief, heart-breaking moment she truly believes she has lost everything.

"Oh God. You don't, do you? You don't like..."

But she cannot bring herself to say the words.

Taking a tiny, tentative step closer, Nicole shakes her head in disbelief.

“Still like you? Waverly, _I love you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about you guys for me, but I have questions for you! 
> 
> Are the team gonna know anything about Waverly's demons? Or Nicole's? What even happened to Nicole in this chapter anyway? _Will there even be any answers next chapter?_ Do you **want** answers? Or cliffhangers? Or other, longer instalments to this fic/universe to follow in the future? 
> 
> I really, really want to hear what you guys think happened, and where you think things could go in the longer-term!!!
> 
> In seriousness, next chapter will be a little shorter (but not that much so) than the others, and I'm really hoping it's going to be a sweet, fluffy little conclusion to this fic and that you guys will like it. More than that I hope it's going to do justice to all your kind words and support. 
> 
> In the meantime, there's still a few instalments left on 'Elevate', and I might be ramping up that rating a little bit soon too. I hope I'll see you guys there!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life or afterlife, it goes on somehow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys this is crazy. It's the final instalment of this fic!! I started posting this fic three months ago to the day!!!!! And now it's done. At least for now. Time just flies. 
> 
> So like, this is where I do my usual spiel saying a massive thank you to everyone who's told me they're following this fic and to every kind compliment people have paid it. I know people write for enjoyment, to improve a skill, simply just to tell a story...but getting feedback is really a huge part of what spurs so many of us on, myself included. It's so helpful to know what people liked and didn't like so that I can improve, and it's just generally so thrilling to think that anyone at all cares for these little contributions to the fandom. 
> 
> As ever, thank you guys so much for being so wonderful. I have stuff to say about this chapter, but I'll let you read it first.
> 
> I hope it's a fitting end to this instalment of my take on a Wayhaught San Junipero universe.

**Christmas Eve  
**San Junipero****

 

Nicole smiles when Waverly walks into the living room.

“How is everyone?”

“Fine, I think,” Waverly says, settling on the couch next to Nicole and leaning in for a kiss. The family like to visit her late on Sunday mornings, so she disappears from San Junipero and leaves Nicole to her own devices for a couple of hours. It does them good really; it feels normal to be apart at least some of the time. Plus, Waverly now relishes time in Purgatory. It no longer feels like a prison anymore.

Admittedly, the longer she is away from the confines of her motionless body the more jarring it is to return. But she knows now that it is only temporary, and she has the joy of Wynonna and Alice and the rest of the team to look forward to.

And then, when it is time to part, she returns home. To the little house by the sea.

 _She returns to Nicole_.

Nicole, who kisses her on her lips and jaw and cheeks as soon as Waverly is within reach.

Nicole, who lingers a moment with their faces close together, breathing Waverly in - simply because she can.

When Waverly cracks her eyelids open to take a peek she finds that Nicole has her own eyes loosely shut, looking so content it makes Waverly want to cry with joy.

It is everything, seeing her love so happy.

It is everything, sharing that happiness with her.

Eventually, Nicole moves back a little to speak, but Waverly chases the contact and burrows into Nicole’s side instead.

“They all ready for tomorrow?”

“It seems so,” Waverly says. “They couldn’t say much because Alice was there and they don’t want to spoil all the surprises. She’ll want to tell me tomorrow afternoon anyway. Bless her, she’s so excited for Santa to come down the chimney that she barely stopped talking anyway.  Poor guy. I don’t think that chimney’s been cleaned since before our father died.”

Nicole laughs but when she speaks she sounds a little wistful too.

“That sounds so wonderful baby. You’ll have such a lovely time tomorrow when she tells you all about her presents.”

Waverly smiles a little sadly. Truly, she understands it. Nicole had been so lonely for so long without a family of sorts, and the holidays no doubt make it all worse. She would have given anything at all to share her little ramshackle family with Nicole too.

But they have each other as family now, and Waverly knows that it is more than enough for Nicole. She knows because Nicole tells her every day. Sometimes she does so in words, but mostly she speaks in smiles and gestures; for as long as they have known each other, Nicole’s eyes have always done half the talking for her.

For both of them, this is to be the first ‘proper’ Christmas in years and, better still, they get to spend it with each other. As far as Waverly is concerned, it is perfect.

They are setting down their own traditions, complete with a real tree and beautiful glass baubles on every branch. There are even a few presents waiting to be opened, although they had both sworn blind that they would not bother. There is no greater gift for Waverly than Nicole’s love (and her forgiveness), but they had both wanted to make the effort anyway. Waverly’s gifts are more sentimental than anything else - a handmade journal of their time together, a CD full of songs that remind her of all the years they have visited in San Junipero.

This is the real spirit of the season for her; joy in all the time they have been given together.

They have painted that joy in the colours of their holiday decorations. Along with the tree, there is tinsel around all the photo frames and there is a fire crackling merrily away in the hearth. Nicole had made them hot chocolate while Waverly was in Purgatory, and she had hooked a candy cane into each of their mugs.

They have plans for wall-to-wall Christmas movies until later, when they will break off and make the best junk food Christmas Eve dinner they can muster. There will be fries and garlic bread. They have vegan pizza in the fridge for Waverly, and the non-vegan kind for Nicole. (She had been making an effort for Waverly and it meant a lot, but it was Christmas. Besides, Waverly did not begrudge her in the slightest.)

They intend to go for a drive later, for no other reason than to see the Christmas lights everywhere. Then, they have mulled cider ready to be heated and a box of homemade cinnamon cookies for when they return.

(Plus, Waverly has _other_ plans too, scheduled for bedtime. She half-suspects that Nicole has similar designs.)

All of it is pure, blissful indulgence and it is all so beautifully domestic that Waverly’s chest aches.

“It was wonderful,” Waverly agrees, thinking back to her loved ones in Purgatory. “And this is wonderful. _You’re_ wonderful.”

Nicole smiles and bends down for another kiss and Waverly’s head spins.

They have an eternity together but she does not think it will ever stop feeling like there is an avalanche between her ribs every time Nicole’s lips find her own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They break off between movies when Waverly snakes her hand up Nicole’s shirt and fixes gentle fingers over the soft skin of her breast.

There are no rules, after all, which state that she has to wait until bedtime.

Nicole’s head drops back against the couch with a delighted little gasp, and the credits roll unchecked on the screen in front of them.

They only resume watching TV a while later, with far fewer clothes between their skin and many more blankets piled atop them.

At one point, Nicole even dozes against Waverly’s shoulder. Her breathing evens out wonderfully and she relaxes against Waverly completely. She is more beautiful than anything else in the room, more so even than anything else in the world.

Waverly has always known it. She has always felt lucky and incredulous that someone like Nicole could take an interest in _her_ , but things could have gone so differently for them and Waverly does not want to take a single thing for granted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 **_Sixteen days earlier_ **.

 

“Still like you? Waverly, _I love you._ ”

If Waverly had been crying before, then the deluge truly starts at Nicole’s admission.

After an initial few sobs break free, she finds herself utterly lost for words and she falls quiet for a moment.

It is not loud, this outpouring of emotion, but it is _strong._ Silent tears run in rivulets down her cheeks as Waverly stands in indecision, fiddling with her hands and struggling to meet Nicole’s eye. She wants desperately to rush to Nicole, to sink into Nicole’s arms and never, ever let go. But after all that has passed, she does not know if she still has the right to do such a thing.

This all feels too easy. After what happened, she does not deserve this and it does not feel real that Nicole could possibly love her.

“You do?”

She hears her own voice, hears how it still sounds lost and child-like.

Nicole smiles, cheeks dimpling and eyes creasing and it makes Waverly cry more because God, Nicole is her _home_ now. Nicole equals home and Waverly almost threw it all away for good.

“Of course I do. I love you Waverly. How could I not? You’re everything.”

“But...you shouldn’t,” Waverly says quietly, biting at her lip. “After what I said - you just shouldn’t.”

This makes Nicole chuckle. “Shouldn’t what? Love you? I think I’ve been doing it since day one Waves. I don’t think I know how not to be in love with you. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“You shouldn’t be so nice to me. I did something terrible - you shouldn’t be making this so easy on me.”

At this, Nicole’s face falls. She takes a step closer and drops the bag in her hand. It is like they both want the other in their arms, but neither knows whether that is something they are still allowed to do.

“Who taught you that?”

Waverly says nothing, only shrugs. The answer is everyone; mama when she left, _their father always_ , Champ and all his infidelity... The answer is life in general. Life taught her to feel like that.

“You didn’t do something terrible,” Nicole says when Waverly does not speak again.

“I did,” Waverly says, voice thick. There is so much shame beneath her skin and it still makes her sick to her stomach.

“ _Waverly_. You got scared because I sprang something on you - something I’d been trying to tell you for weeks - with no warning, right before midnight.” Nicole tries for another smile and pitches her voice differently. “Because being scared is just _so_ terrible baby.”

At the humour in Nicole’s voice, Waverly finally finds the courage to hold her gaze for a moment. She searches Nicole’s honest brown eyes and finds only love and bone-deep affection shining back at her.

“The stuff I said - ”

“Yeah,” Nicole says with a wince. “Some of it cut right down to the bone, I’m not going to pretend it didn’t -”

“I didn’t mean any of it,” Waverly says so quickly the words almost blend into one.

“I know.”

“I’d handle it all so differently if I had the chance again.”

“Me too Waves.”

“And I’d take back every word I said if I could.”

“I know you would love.”

“And I wouldn’t have run.”

“It was nearing midnight anyway.”

Waverly shakes her head. “But still. I shouldn’t have walked out. I shouldn’t have tried to make leaving me easy for you.”

“You could have said and done anything Waverly, but it would never make that easy on me. I didn’t _want_ to leave you, I was trying to tell you th - ”

“I know, Nicole. I,” Waverly takes a deep, shuddering breath and immediately flounders. She had all of this planned out, but it was so damn hard when she was standing a few feet away from the woman she now knew was the love of her life.

“Even if you know, can I just say it anyway?” Nicole asks and quickly, Waverly nods. Even if Nicole did nothing wrong, she has waited just as long for this conversation. “When I arrived here, things were so messed up and I didn’t have anyone. It wasn’t even really a choice I made not to sign up permanently because neither option was really what I wanted. At the time, living my life was what I wanted and if I couldn’t have that? Well, I guess I was being petulant about it. After all, there were a lot of things here for me; even just this house and the beach and the forest. And I suppose it was a consideration for me to stay, but nothing more. So there was no real sense of urgency in me to go back to the paperwork. Which I know sounds crazy, given the _obvious_ source of urgency being that I knew I was terminal, even then.

“But anyway, I met you and you changed everything for me. _Everything_ Waves. You changed my life. I think I was waiting for you without realising. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but that’s how it feels. And staying here stopped being just a possibility and it became a no-brainer. And God, the number of times I wanted us to sit down and have this conversation. But you only had five hours here and you’d arrive and we’d start off talking about something else. And time flies with you because I’m always so happy, and suddenly another Saturday was ending and I hadn’t asked you and it was too late yet again.”

Nicole pauses, her wide eyes searching Waverly’s face and begging her to understand. It breaks her heart because Nicole had done nothing wrong to begin with.

“What did you want to ask me all those times?” Waverly asks, mostly because she is not sure what else to say.

Without hesitation, Nicole says, “if you wanted me to stay with you. It probably sounds stupid but I wanted to hear it from you.”

Waverly swallows, and it is like she is trying to bite back her nerves and leave them clamped between her back teeth.

“And what then, when I said yes? Which I would have. What if I’d just listened and told you ‘stay, please don’t ever leave me’, rather than imploding and behaving like a child?”

“Then I’d have signed the paperwork by Sunday lunchtime. It was the final thing I would have needed to hear. I already knew my heart, already knew I’d made my decision. I just wanted to you to have a say too. I wanted to know that you thought it was a good idea. Us two. Here forever. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. It’s a huge decision, Waves. Like any two people moving their lives elsewhere to be together. I just wanted us to talk about it properly and make our plans together. Like a couple. Because that’s what we are, what we _still_ are - at least in my eyes.”

Waverly’s heart twists in her chest. Nicole had only ever wanted the best for them - it makes the guilt in her belly even worse.

Even now, Nicole is searching, subtly asking whether Waverly still sees them as a couple too.

(She does. Of course she does. She wants _eternity_ with Nicole, and Nicole doesn’t even seem to realise.)

“Afterwards, I thought I’d ruined everything between us forever,” Waverly admits. “And then you weren’t here the week after and I thought I’d never see you again.”

A little sob quivers in Waverly’s mouth before she can say more, and she cannot keep it from settling in the freezing air between them. Even now, with Nicole in front of her, it is an impossible thought to bear.

“I would have been here,” Nicole says quickly, hurrying again to explain herself when she has nothing to account for. “I wasn’t well, I was asleep all day and they left me to rest. It wasn’t that I was angry with you, it wasn’t that I was avoiding you. I’d never Waverly. I’d never do that. I wanted so desperately to see you.”

And of course, Waverly had always known as much deep down. She tells Nicole so, and then adds, “but if you were avoiding me, no one could have blamed you. You should hate me. You should be ending things between us for what I did. At the very least, you _should_ be angry at me.”

“Well I’m not angry at you. Okay, I was hurt I guess. Because I thought I’d made my feelings clearer to you. I didn’t know how you couldn’t see that I wasn’t in this carelessly, how you could ever believe that I didn’t want to make some kind of a life here for the two of us. But the way it came out, the way I handled it all, I know how it could have made you doubt me. I was just trying to protect us both, but I got it wrong and I’m sorry.”

“It didn’t make me doubt you,” Waverly says quickly, and Nicole raises an eyebrow in an expression of disbelief. “No, I’m serious. Even as I was...even when I was saying all that horrific stuff - and God, I’m so, _so_ sorry Nicole - there was a rational voice in my head yelling at me that I knew you cared for me. All you’ve ever done is show how much you care. The fact I even implied otherwise was unforgivable Nicole, especially because I didn’t even believe it while I was saying it. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it anyway.”

More tears trickle over Waverly’s cheeks when she admits this. Because it has always been her truth. She didn’t deserve all the kindness Nicole showed her, especially not right now.

When she hears the bitter conviction in Waverly’s voice, however, Nicole looks horrified.

“ _Waves_ , no. That’s not true at all.”

Struggling to speak through her tears, Waverly shakes her head. “I-it is, I know it is.”

Because that is what she has learned over time too; from her father and her mother, from Wynonna’s disappearance when Waverly needed her most. She had learned it too from Champ, from Mictian, and from the ugly, angry twin demon. In her life, others had always dictated what she deserved, and it wasn’t until relatively recently that their interpretation had been all that positive.

Nicole takes another tiny step nearer, but she still does not quite reach out and touch Waverly.

She blinks away a few tears in her own eyes and fixes Waverly with a deep, intense look.

“I kind of want to throw a punch at whoever, _whatever_ , made you believe that so deeply,” she admits with an embarrassed, damp little laugh. “Because you deserve the world Waverly. Look, I’m not going to pretend some of the stuff that happened didn’t hurt, and I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t make me feel a little defensive at the time. But from the instant we were apart I wasn’t angry at you.”

Again, Waverly shakes her head. Her brain cannot accommodate this kind of admission from Nicole. After years of her father’s shouting, Champ’s cheating, after her mother and Wynonna leaving, she knows what happens next. She knows that after misdemeanours comes the punishment.

“Waverly, listen to me,” Nicole says, speaking very slowly and clearly, as if she is determined that Waverly should not confuse her intent for even a single second. “If you’ve ever trusted me before, then please trust me now. Why would I be angry when I missed you so badly? All I’ve wanted these past days is to see you, to have you with me again. And I wanted us to just _talk_. To talk properly like we are now, and get things out in the open. Because if I’m being honest, it was a fifty-fifty argument, wasn’t it? We both did things we shouldn’t, and neither of us did _anything_ that a proper conversation couldn’t fix. So there wasn’t any point in being angry, because that energy was better spent on thinking how to sort this and just go back to how we were.”

Again, Nicole’s sheer and unwavering capacity for magnanimity floors Waverly. She is trying to shoulder half the culpability, when that should be Waverly’s to bear alone.

For the first time, it occurs to her that this is always how Nicole has seen them and their relationship; a way to share the bad and the good because there was so much of both in their lives now.

“But can we, really?” Waverly asks, giving voice to what is now scaring her most of all. At first, she had thought she might have driven Nicole away from San Junipero for good. That was the worst case scenario. If Nicole had decided not to stay - had decided to pass, _really_ pass - then Waverly knows she could not have lived with herself. Even if Nicole had wanted things between them to end, Waverly could not have gone on knowing that Nicole did not make it back to San Junipero in time. Because Nicole deserved this quiet, calm, wonderful life here by the ocean - whether Waverly was privileged enough to be a part of that or not.

But now Nicole can make her choice (indeed, she seems to have already made her choice) and it was one less thing for Waverly to fear. But that does not mean that she is not afraid that things will be dented forever between them. Perhaps they are not broken beyond all use, but Waverly still fears that she has left an ugly, angry blot on their relationship forever.

“In my head we already have,” Nicole says, like it is as simple as that. “It was just an argument, Waves. It was a mistake, that’s all it was. We both know we didn’t mean for it to happen. And best of all, we’ll know for next time, won’t we? We’ll know to do better next time.”

And maybe it can be that simple, but Waverly cannot see how Nicole can move on after all the cruel things she said. Plus, if she is already thinking of the next argument then perhaps that is not a good sign.

“Next time?”

Nicole chuckles. “Girlfriends are always gonna fight. I can’t promise we’ll always get everything right first time but I can promise I’m always going to try my best for us.”

“But I didn’t do my best this time. And I will, I swear I will next time but right now, I can’t help feeling that I need to make this up to you.”

“No, you don’t. You’re sorry and I’m sorry. That’s it. We don’t need to mark our deeds against each other. Let’s just go forward from here now. Let’s just be us, yeah?”

Waverly thinks back to her parents. She thinks back to Champ. None of this makes any _sense_.

“Don’t you even want to shout at me back? Say stuff to hurt me like I hurt you? You could, if you wanted to. It’s no less than I deserve.”

Nicole shakes her head, looking completely bemused. “I don’t want to punish you Waverly. I’m not about to start lighting any hoops on fire baby. I’d never do that to you.”

“What do you want?  Because if I have to do someth- ”

“I just want you to love me. I just want to love you back. I want us to be together, without any fear that the other might be going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere now Waverly, not unless you want me to.”

A few final tears drip hot down Waverly’s freezing cheeks.

“I never want you to go anywhere again.”

Nicole smiles. “Then I’m here. I’m here and I love you. And that’s all I can offer you, but I promise I’ll offer it with all my heart.”

Waverly takes a breath. She has been waiting to say these words to Nicole. It almost feels like she has been waiting all her life, even before they met. It feels like all roads have always lead to Nicole, like the universe wanted them to meet so badly that it had brought them to these fates together.

“I love you too Nicole. I’m so sorry and I love you so much,” she feels her voice creak under a final flood of tears, but she ploughs on as best she can. “And I thought I’d never get to tell you just how much I love you. Because I do. I really, really do love you.”

Nicole’s face crumples then, and when she starts to cry too Waverly thinks that maybe Nicole’s are happy tears.

Finally, Nicole steps closer and erases the space between them, bringing her arms around Waverly so that she can pull her close. Waverly’s arms spring quickly around Nicole, clutching at her jacket hard and holding her impossibly tight.

“Baby,” Nicole says, sucking in a gasp as soon as their skin touches. “You’re _freezing_ out here. I’m sorry, we should have done this inside.”

And it is true that Waverly does not have a proper coat, let alone a hat or a scarf. She had not thought to give herself one in her rush to find Nicole. But wild horses would not have moved her from that doorstep, and she would gladly suffer the cold to live in this moment forever.

_Nicole loves her. Nicole is staying._

They can be together now.

She pulls her head away from Nicole’s shoulder and looks up.

Nicole is still crying but she is beaming too and Waverly knows in her blood the moment that Nicole resolves to kiss her.

There is something between them, something magical; like their souls have a way to speak to each other - like their souls have been speaking since before the sun was around to light up the universe.

Their lips meet and it is like the first time all over again.

It is like kissing Nicole afresh, but without any of the fears that once lived under Waverly’s skin - fears about whether Nicole could love her; whether Nicole would accept the truth about Waverly’s curse; whether they could forge a future in San Junipero.  

Nicole’s lips are cold and the kiss is deep and long and filled with _longing_.

They kiss until Waverly thinks she knows the rhythm of Nicole’s body better than her own and she almost forgets that she has to breathe. She almost forgets that Nicole cannot draw in air for the both of them because, despite how it feels, they are still two separate bodies with one shared heart.

Nicole skims a hand over Waverly’s cheek, the soft fleece of her gloves gentle and soothing.

“Come on,” Nicole says, brow crinkling in concern. “Let’s get you inside now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

This time, the house is warm and Waverly is not soaked through and searching blindly.

This time, Nicole’s palms are there and they are warmer than anything else as they seek to touch Waverly and keep her anchored. They skim up Waverly’s arms and over her throat and down her back. They move everywhere.

Nicole’s fingers write love over Waverly’s ribcage above her heart and, after a longer build-up than Waverly can ever remember before, eventually Nicole’s fingers are firm and relentless as they work hard between Waverly’s legs.

Waverly comes with her back against the shower tiles, Nicole’s forehead heavy against her shoulder and her lips bruising against Waverly’s collarbone. Waverly comes louder than the times before; her legs shaking, chest heaving.

She comes with a sob and her tears mingle with the water of the shower, set cooler than normal to warm Waverly up without causing any damage.

She comes and she tells Nicole she loves her, and Nicole says the words right back without a moment’s hesitation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards when they are both hidden away entirely under the covers in the bedroom, Nicole tells Waverly about Wynonna’s second visit.

Waverly had guessed it of course, when Wynonna once again failed to turn up at Waverly’s bedside on a Thursday evening.

She bore no ill-feeling for her sister’s absence.

She had only prayed the entire time that Wynonna was with Nicole, that she had reached her before it was too late…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly cries again when they speak about Wynonna together, but the tears are happier than before.

Nicole speaks well of her sister, and it reminds Waverly of all the secret dreams she had harboured of a life with Wynonna and Nicole at once.

Nicole reminds her that is okay for Waverly to grieve her family too. She holds her again while she cries and, this time, it feels as though she gets it all out of her system for good.

Or, at least, for the foreseeable future.

There will probably be more sadness to come, but there is so much more happiness now and Waverly wastes no more time in reminding them both of this fact.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole leaves their bed only once, to make Waverly a cup of tea while, sated and happy, she snoozes. Nicole brings some food upstairs at the same time and, perhaps sensing Waverly’s unspoken need for closeness, she does not leave her side again.  

For the very first time, they fall asleep together in the knowledge that there will be no more waking in hospital beds at midnight. For the first time, they know they will wake in the morning and the other will be there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All the same, Waverly jerks awake a couple of times that first night, just to make sure that Nicole really is there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Always, she is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

After that, it feels as though they have all the time in the world together.

Waverly writes her schedule down and Nicole sticks it to the fridge with a large magnet so that they can both memorise the times when Waverly will return to Purgatory.

Aside from that, all they really have left to learn is each other.

It feels different, suddenly having whole days and nights to themselves. They settle into it easily enough, and although things between them had always felt real, the increase in time makes them truly feel like a real couple.

They both know that this is subjective, so they define _‘real couple_ ’ for themselves.

They decide that the concept looks back at them from every photo frame in the house. It looks like giving up all pretences on Waverly’s apartment and moving the few items that hold any sentimentality (little stuffed unicorn included) into Nicole’s house. It looks like rainy Sunday mornings in bed, and late night talks in front of the fire. It looks like Waverly learning that Nicole is actually neater than she had realised, and she gets quietly, _adorably_ frustrated when Waverly leaves scatter cushions all over the bedroom floor without making the bed properly.

(In Waverly’s defence, they had had no plans for the day and she was pretty sure they would be back in bed again before long. Even better, her hunch had been absolutely correct.)

 _‘Real couple’_ looks like the first time that Waverly realises that Nicole cries over animal movies and is ticklish on the backs of her neck and knees.

 _‘Real couple’_ just looks like the two of them; Waverly and Nicole.

It looks like their first ever Christmas Eve together.

When they make their little buffet dinner, Waverly switches the television off and puts Christmas music on, even though they have listened to all the same tracks on a loop since they had been reunited.

Waverly never tires of Christmas songs, and Nicole seems content to let them play over and over. She even lets Waverly make her dance around to _Merry Christmas Everyone_ as the pizza cooks, and then she holds Waverly close in some approximation of a slow dance across the kitchen tiles when the music shifts to _White Christmas_.

(And because this is San Junipero, it _had_ snowed earlier in the week. Very little of the stuff had settled near the shoreline, but they had wrapped themselves up in jumpers and coats and made their way to the forest to explore.

They were not the only ones with that idea but most people seemed to have gravitated towards the city parks, and they manage to find their own corner of privacy to build snowmen and launch snowballs at each other.

They traipse back to the car hours later, both of them frozen to the bone and with sore stomachs from laughing so much.)

“I love you,” Waverly says as they sway to the music, and she can feel Nicole smile against her cheek.

“I love you too.”

Nicole is still smiling when she kisses her, and Waverly accepts the contact almost greedily.

If pressed, she would have to admit that they have been like teenagers, or honeymooners, or whatever kinds of people can’t quite seem to keep their hands still for long enough.

It is like nothing she has ever known, intimacy with Nicole. It is not just the obvious parts; it is so much more than just the _happy conclusions_.

It is that Waverly has never felt so settled in her own skin before. She has never trusted another person with every part of her, inside and out, before. She has never felt so beautiful, so wanted before. Champ had only ever lusted after her body, but _Nicole_. Nicole worships every part of Waverly, body and soul, like the pious at the altar. Nicole can still knock Waverly sideways with just a single, reverent look at Waverly’s bare skin. She does not even really need to touch Waverly (although that is the last thing Waverly wants to suggest) to take her breath away.

“The food,” Waverly chokes out when, after a moment or two, she finds herself pressed against the breakfast nook.

“It’s on a timer,” Nicole says, pulling back with a wicked, wicked grin and _God_ , Waverly loves her. “And I kind of want to see which one of you I can finish off first.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

(It is Waverly. Of course it is. Nicole can make it slow when she wants, but she has always known how to have Waverly in pieces with almost no effort at all.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Waverly’s defence, the timer sounds fairly quickly after they have cleaned themselves up, so it was basically a draw.

She tells Nicole as much, just because she knows it will make her laugh.

“You can call it a draw if you want,” she says, smiling and kissing Waverly on the lips. Waverly can still taste the traces of herself on Nicole’s tongue. “But either way, it was a win-win for me.”

“Well, technically you didn’t c-”

Nicole tips her a wink. “You can just get me back later.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

They eat their dinner with no sense of haste, and both bundle up warm in order to venture outside. Even at such a distance, they can see the colours of the Christmas lights on the horizon, the city glowing even more brightly than normal.

Nicole already seems to have a route in mind and Waverly does not especially miss driving, so she is happy to cede that particular responsibility.

They have no specific end destination and only want to spend a while observing the Christmas decorations because, as with everything here, they are more breathtaking than either of them could have imagined.

Of course, they have seen them all before during the build up to the festivities, but it just seems like the kind of Christmas Eve tradition they want to settle into.

It is nice, sometimes, to drive without direction and simply take joy in each other’s company as they find excitement in whatever sights they stumble upon on the way.

After all, there is still so much heartache out there in the world, but for now if feels far away and muted.

Right now Waverly has Nicole for longer and longer periods of time (for _ever_ , really) and she still has her family too. She has Christmas with everyone she loves, even if it is not in the most conventional of senses.

She has the sound of the wheels against the road as Nicole drives them everywhere and nowhere in her 1980s Quattro - now a permanent fixture in any era.

Everything is perfect, shining, and euphoric.

Heaven is there for the taking and Waverly is reaching out with both palms spread wide, knowing that Nicole is right there with her, ready to take her hand and share the adventure.

As Nicole drives, Waverly spends half her time looking out the window, and the other half watching the colours dance over Nicole’s face.

She had thought she knew love, but her love for Nicole seemed to finally complete a puzzle she had never realised she wanted to solve. Now, she feels fit to burst with all the love in her.

After they have been amongst the lights and decorations for close to an hour, Nicole finally catches Waverly looking at her.

From the driver’s seat she turns her head and smiles.

“Where to now Waves?”

She knows the question is a genuine one, but to Waverly there is only really one answer now, and for all of eternity too.

“Home,” she says, beaming. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean. Everyone here knows I'm incapable of finishing on anything _but_ fluff, right?? 
> 
> And that's where I wanted to finish this fic too: something sweet and fluffy and cheesy and full of love. Because that's kind of what I think about when I think not just of Wayhaught, but of their little demon-hunting family (and their one revenant cousin too). 
> 
> But okay. So. Here's the thing. I know right now there aren't technically any _answers_ here. When I started this fic, for the first time in a long time, I was writing with absolutely no idea of where I was going with it. I was leaning one way more than the other re the two obvious options, and for a time it was actually pretty set in stone. But in honesty? I wrote a few endings and they didn't feel right. Some were too outright angsty for the tone of the rest of the fic, and others were trite and contrived. 
> 
> I've never really been a fan of the whole "you can interpret it how you wish" ending but in this case it sort of hit the notes I was going for so I've gone against my normal preferences and written it. 
> 
> In my head, I have a definitive answer to the obvious question of "is Nicole permanent now?", like there is, to me, a 'correct' answer to that. But at the same time, whatever you guys think right now is also fair enough. Schrodinger's Nicole.
> 
> In theory, and I very much mean this is in theory, I have ideas for other instalments. I've not had a chance to seriously map them out and see if they're viable/I even like them and want to write them, so this is a 'no guarantees' space. But there's a whole lot of time for Wayhaught to be together, and a whole lot of life for Waves' family to tell her about, so there are a lot of avenues for more. At the very least I have some potential standalone pieces that I could put together, filling in some San Junipero gaps that got axed from the final fic for length/flow/rating [eyes emoji] purposes. After 'Elevate' is posted in its entirety and a Christmas fic I'm hooopefully gonna finish in time goes up, I'll look into it. 
> 
> In the meantime, I'll definitely be talking about this and other fic writing nonsense on my fandom twitter @rositabustiiios, so if anything does happen and this fic becomes a series I'll no doubt be rambling on about it there.
> 
> This note has now become far too long, so I'm going to cut it here. I really, really, _really_ hope you liked this final chapter, and that you have enjoyed reading this fic more generally. I hope to hear from you guys either here or on twitter (plus there's still two more chapters of 'Elevate' to go!) and, once again, thank you so much for reading this fic!!!!!! I love you all!


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